Harry Potter and the Walking Shadow
by Koinaka
Summary: When Dumbledore shows up at the Dursley's front door to deliver Harry's Hogwarts letter, he is in for a surprise: for the last ten years, Harry has lived in a London orphanage, much like another dark-haired wizard. Is history doomed to repeat itself?
1. Chapter One

Alrighty, boys and girls, here we go. After weeks of trying to write to no avail, I realized I had written myself into a box. I began to look over previous chapters and realized just how much work needed to be done so that I could continue. So, I decided to edit the first eighteen chapters so I can actually continue with this story! I have already done the first five chapters, so I will be posting those now. Please do let me know what you think of the changes, good or bad. If you can't leave a review because you have already done so, which very well might be the case, simply send me a PM. I love all feedback. Thanks again for your patience, and I hope you all enjoy this.

-- _Koinaka_

Harry Potter and the Walking Shadow

By _Koinaka_

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing.

_Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 24–28_

Chapter One  
A very different Boy-Who-Lived

It was a small, but otherwise pleasant room that the stiff matron of the orphanage ushered Albus Dumbledore into.

"Would you like a cuppa?" offered the nun.

Dumbledore beamed at the woman, smiling jovially. "That would be excellent, thank you."

"His parent's alma mater, you say?" asked the woman, a bit suspiciously if not more than a little cautious, once the two of them were sipping on two cups of tea.

"Just so," said the elderly man with a smile. "They were former students of mine. I confess myself surprised at discovering that their son was not where I thought him to be all these long years. Tell me, Sister, how long has Mr. Potter resided within your facility?"

"Around ten years," replied the woman shortly. "We found him on the doorstep the morning of November 2nd, I believe," the nun paused for a moment. "No, I'm sorry, it was on the the 3rd that we found him. Always thought it was a bit strange, that any parent would abandon their child, especially such a quiet and good natured child as Harry was, but it didn't take long for us to see why..." She trailed off.

"Oh?" asked the Professor.

Sister Agatha hesitated. "And he's already been accepted at this school? So you'll take him, no matter what I say?"

"No matter what," he confirmed kindly. "He'll have to return here during his summer holidays, of course, but otherwise..."

The nun nodded and let out a sigh of relief. "He was always such a quiet child. Never cried, never whined like the other children, so quiet. It was unnatural," she shivered. "And he _knew_ things, always. It was like he could see through you, into the darkest corner of your mind, and know what was there. Unnatural," she repeated. She stopped as if to gauge his reaction, but although his mind was reeling, he did not allow his surprise to show.

Outwardly, at least. Indeed, he was not, perhaps, as surprised as he should have been. He'd had very nearly the same conversation once before, regarding another young wizard, half a century before. He continued to watch the Sister who had fallen silent. "What else can you tell me about the boy? Does he have many friends? Does he perform well in school?" Professor Dumbledore prompted gently after another several minutes of silence.

"Friends?" she asked slowly. Professor Dumbledore nodded. She shook her head. "No, he hasn't many friends at all. It's just, well, the children are frightened of him, you see," she confessed. A horrified look appeared on her face. "You'll still take him, won't you?"

Dumbledore nodded patiently, a pleasant smile on his lips. "There's nothing you could tell me that would make me change my mind, I assure you. He's been signed up for attendance to my school since his birth."

"He's rather odd boy," Sister Agatha murmured softly, as if speaking to herself.

"So I've gathered," said Dumbledore, not unkindly. "You say he frightens the other children. Is he a bully, then?"

"A bully?" the Sister repeated. "No, not a bully. The other children, well you know how children can be, especially to those that are different." She seemed to be gaining confidence. "They used to bully _him_, but then strange things began happening around him."

Dumbledore rubbed his beard. "Strange things, you say?"

"Y-yes," she said, hesitating again. "I could never prove any of it, of course, and if you'd ever seen him, you'd understand why I am reluctant to do so. He couldn't have done it physically, but just the same, Sam's arm didn't break itself, now did it?"

"They rarely do," said the Headmaster quietly.

"And all the snakes, well, Harry _said_ he hadn't let him in, and I don't see how he could have done, really. Where would he have gotten that many snakes at any rate?"

"Where indeed?" murmured Dumbledore.

*

Harry Potter woke up on July 31st, 1991 much as he did any other day. Only that it wasn't just any day; it was his birthday – his eleventh to be exact. Not that he expected anything special, because he didn't. In fact, Harry Potter had not celebrated any of his other birthdays either. Except perhaps the one he'd had with his parents, but since he couldn't remember it, he couldn't rightly count it, now could he? The orphanage he lived in – St. Nicolas' Home for Boys – did have cake once monthly to celebrate any birthdays that fell in that particular month, but that was it.

But Harry was no ordinary little boy. All of his short life, he had known he was different – _special_. Strange things had a tendency to happen around Harry whenever he was angry or frightened. Sometimes they happened just because he _wanted_ them to.

The strange happenings started out, as most things do, small. It was the weekend before he was due to start school, and Sister Beatrice had decided to cut Harry's hair. Harry _hated_ his new haircut and wished that it had never been cut. The next morning when Harry woke up, his hair was back to its original length. It took nearly a dozen hair cuts before the Sisters realized there was nothing that could be done; his hair just kept growing back!

Once Harry discovered he could control whatever it was that he could do, he took advantage of it. And why shouldn't he? The other children had certainly caused him enough trouble. Broken glasses, torn library books, ripped jeans, and plenty of undeserved beatings. He really hadn't _planned_ on hurting any of them badly. In fact, the first time it happened, he had just stared at the boy's arm – it stuck out at an obscene angle – in shock for several seconds before running for the teacher.

It rained all morning that day. Growing up in London, Harry was no stranger to the rain, and he certainly never allowed it to hinder his weekly trip to the local library. He spent several hours in the library before returning to the orphanage for lunch. He made his way silently to his bedroom. He was the only boy in the orphanage who had his own private room. They'd given him the room because they were frightened of him, of course, but Harry liked his room all the same. He opened his bedroom door and was surprised to discover that it was not empty as it should have been. There was an elderly man standing next to Sister Agatha who was glaring balefully at his drenched appearance.

"Harry, this is Professor Dumbledore. He's come to speak to you about attending his school," stated Sister Agatha.

Harry eyed the man from the doorway. He was certainly odd-looking. He had long white hair and an equally long white beard. He wore glasses, but unlike Harry's, his were only half-circle. He certainly didn't look like a Professor despite his button-down suit, no matter what Sister Agatha said.

"Well, go on," urged Sister Agatha. "Say hello to 'im. He's come all the way from Scotland to talk to you."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," murmured Harry, still watching the man carefully.

"Perhaps I should speak to the boy alone," suggested the Professor.

Sister Agatha seemed torn. "If you're sure," she replied hesitantly.

"I insist."

The nun threw another glance towards Harry before hurrying out of the room, the door shutting loudly behind her.

*

The boy, Professor Dumbledore discovered, looked remarkably similar to his father at that age. He was a bit smaller than other eleven year olds, perhaps, but he seemed in good heath regardless. His dark and wavy hair was damp from the rain, and seemed to be naturally untidy. His complexion was pale, but it was not sallow by any means, just the sort of paleness achieved by those who preferred inside activities than outside ones. It was his eyes that Dumbledore was drawn to, however. Those eyes were Lily Potter's eyes. They were a brilliant green, and intelligence shone through them. All in all, Dumbledore was pleasantly surprised the boy did not look the worse for wear. His clothes, while obviously secondhand, were meticulously neat, as was the boy's room. No, he did not seem to suffer any ill effects of being raised in an orphanage. Not that Tom Riddle had either, no, Tom had preferred to hide things, especially things he considered weaknesses. Whether it was his emotions or his actions, he was adept at the art of subterfuge. Harry's face seemed to be schooled in the same emotionless mask that Riddle had worn when Dumbledore had come for him, all those years ago.

"Now then, do you know why I'm here, Mr. Potter?" asked the elderly man.

"You want me to attend your school," Harry said matter-of-factly, curious green eyes studying the Professor.

The elder man smiled kindly. "Rightly so, Mr. Potter."

Harry relaxed somewhat, but did not become complacent. "What sort of school is it?" asked Harry carefully.

"What sort of school indeed," said the Professor with a chuckle. "It's called Hogwarts, and it's a school for gifted students, students with very special skills."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, then. I don't have any special skills," Harry said quickly, much too quickly.

"Oh, am I?" asked the man with a knowing smile on his face. "Tell me, has anything strange ever happened when you were frightened or angry?"

"No," said Harry. "I didn't do anything to Sam, and if Sister Agatha has said otherwise, she's lying."

"Perhaps, I should start over. I can see we are going around in circles, my dear boy. I am Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you, Harry Potter, are a wizard."

"Magic?" breathed Harry. "It's magic, what I can do, then?"

"What is it that you can do?" asked the Headmaster.

"All sorts of things," he replied breathlessly, obviously quite excited. "Whatever I want."

"Whatever you want?" repeated the elder wizard, hiding the shock he felt at the words.

Harry nodded but offered up no other information. "So, this school of yours... it's a magic school?"

"Yes, quite so, Mr. Potter, and I would very much like for you to attend."

"I've never heard of a magical school before," said the boy, his tone suspicious and his expression wary and guarded.

"And for good reason," responded the Professor. "Necessity dictates that we keep ourselves hidden, but there is an entire world out there, similar to this world, especially for those who are magical."

"And I've a place at this school of yours? Hogwarts?" queried the boy.

Dumbledore nodded once. "Yes, you have been down for attendance since your birth as were your parents before you. Are you interested in attending?"

"I'm afraid it's not possible," Harry said, mournfully. "I haven't got any money."

"I don't think that will be a problem, Mr. Potter. Your parents have left you a great deal of money," replied the wizard.

A peculiar look flitted across the boy's face at that. "My parents," he started quietly, "are they dead, then? I've never known. The nuns say that I was found on the doorstep with naught but a note."

Professor Dumbledore paused for a long moment before speaking. "I am very sorry to say that your parents are, in fact, deceased. They were murdered by a dark wizard when you were merely an infant. After their deaths, I entrusted your care to your only remaining family, your mother's sister, Petunia Dursley, and her husband. I cannot be sure how exactly you came to be placed here, as I was only made aware of your true location this morning."

If the boy was unsatisfied with Professor Dumbledore's explanation, he gave no indication. "My parents, sir, could you – perhaps – if it isn't too much of a bother, that is, could you tell me about them?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled indulgently at the boy. "Your parents, James and Lily Potter, were both quite remarkable. You look very much like your father, save your eyes, which are your mother's. I'm afraid I didn't know them all that well, so I cannot tell you their hobbies or anything of that sort, but I can tell you that they were vivacious, intelligent, and exceedingly brave. Your father was the wizarding equivalent of a police officer, we call them Aurors, and your mother hadn't yet decided on a career though she was quite talented in a number of areas."

Harry was silent for several seconds digesting all of the information. "And they were murdered, you say?"

The professor nodded. "Indeed. Despite their perceived differences, the magical world and the non-magical world have much in common, including war. Much like Adolf Hitler who terrorized the non-magical world decades ago, the magical world was being terrorized by a man who referred to himself as the Dark Lord Voldemort. Your parents were targeted by Lord Voldemort and despite all of our attempts at protecting them, they were eventually killed."

"What happened to him, this Lord Voldemort?"

"That, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid is a mystery. It was said that he was defeated by the only witness to the atrocious act –_ you_. Though there are none alive to tell the tale, it is said that when he turned his wand on you, he was unable to kill you. The curse meant for you rebounded back on him, killing him in the process and leaving you with nothing but a lightening bolt shaped scar on your forehead."

Instinctively, the boy's hand went up to touch the odd scar that had been his for as long as he could remember, as he studied the professor's face. At last, he spoke. "You don't believe that, though, do you, sir?"

"Do I believe that Lord Voldemort, the most dangerous dark wizard the world has seen, is gone forever? No, I do not believe that, but do I believe you temporarily defeated him and have given the wizarding world a ten year reprieve from his reign of terror? Yes, I certainly do believe that. Now, as I was saying before, there is an entire world dedicated to witches and wizards, the wizarding world, if you will. And, as in this world, there are certain rules - laws - that one must follow," continued Professor Dumbledore before Harry could question him further.

"Rules? What sort of rules?" asked the boy slowly, his expression becoming blank at once.

"There are all sorts of rules. Magic can be a very powerful thing, Harry – may I call you Harry?" Harry nodded his approval and the man continued. "So I must request that, whether you choose to attend my school or not, _never_ use magic in order to cause others pain. Especially against those who are unable to wield it, those who are not magical - we call them Muggles. To do so is beyond cruel, Harry, because they can have no hope of defending themselves against it, you see. You must promise me this."

Harry's green eyes flashed in anger and, for one brief second, a frown flittered across his face, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

A little over an hour later, after giving Harry a more in-depth explanation of Hogwarts, and everything he would need to attend: his Hogwarts letter that contained his supply list, his ticket for the Hogwarts Express, the key to his vault, and directions to the Leaky Cauldron, Albus Dumbledore left St. Nicholas' Home for Boys.

It had been his plan to accompany Harry to purchase his school supplies himself, but the boy had insisted on going alone. It was with great reluctance, and thoughts of another fiercely independent dark-haired boy that had haunted him for over half a century, that he had agreed. He did not plan to leave the boy completely alone, however. In fact, he had just the person who would be perfect for the job of watching over young Harry as he shopped.

Lost in his thoughts, Professor Dumbledore missed the pair of calculating green eyes that watched his departure from the window above.

-- edited by _Koinaka _on March 3, 2010 --

-- Thank you to my lovely beta, Mordac, for all of your wonderful help!--


	2. Chapter Two

Harry Potter and the Walking Shadow

By _Koinaka_

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing.

_Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 24–28_

Chapter Two  
Professors, Goblins, and Wands, oh my!

A tall, lanky man with inky black hair, a sallow complexion, and narrowed obsidian eyes glared at the Leaky Cauldron's barkeeper, daring the man to make small talk with him.

The barkeeper, of course, could not hear the man's thoughts, and, even if he could, he would've probably ignored them.

"Professor Snape! What'll it be for you today? A butter beer or perhaps you could do with a fire whiskey? It's a bit early, I know, but judging from your look..." Tom, the barkeeper, was silenced by the murderous stare said man imparted to him.

"I'll have a cup of tea," said the man brusquely.

Tom hurried off to get his tea, mumbling about the rudeness of young people today. The man, Professor Severus Snape, wondered, for what must have been the hundredth time since he woke up that morning, how he had been tricked into shadowing the Boy-Who-Lived as he purchased his school supplies. He blamed it on the Headmaster, of course. The man had been in quite a state when he returned from his journey the previous day. Apparently, upon visiting Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Harry Potter's supposed guardians, he had discovered the boy had never lived there.

It turned out Petunia Dursley, loathsome woman that she was, had sent the son of her only sister to live at an orphanage instead of caring for him herself. Dumbledore had been shocked and outraged. Severus had not been. He had known both Evans' sisters since they were children, after all. Petunia had always been vindictive and more than a little bitter over Lily being magical when she, herself, was not.

Severus had vehemently declined Dumbledore's suggestion that he watch after the boy in question, until, that is, Dumbledore had resorted to emotional blackmail and uttered the one phrase that would always be his weakness: for Lily.

That was how he found himself sitting on a stool at the Leaky Cauldron wishing, quite frankly, to be doing anything but what he was doing: waiting for the boy. The boy that Dumbledore seemed to believe shared a few too many qualities with a certain wizard that must not be named. Severus had, thankfully, never known the Dark Lord as a child, though if the adult version was anything to go by, he was glad of it.

Tom brought the tea over and then, fortunately, left without saying another word. Severus was relieved for he didn't have the patience for idle chatter. Not even half an hour later, the door opened and the boy in question entered the room.

He needed no introduction because Snape had seen that face too many times, albeit in the form of James, rather than Harry, Potter. Oh, there were differences, certainly. He was smaller than James had been and his face less open than his predecessor's. James Potter was never without a mischievous grin, and for good reason, but this boy had a guarded look to him, as if he was suspicious of everything around him. His eyes, true to Dumbledore's word, were a startling shade of green, the same shade of green Lily's had been, but where hers had been bright and full of life, his were cold and calculating.

He watched as the boy walked across the room, nimbly maneuvering himself so that he was not in physical contact with any of the many patrons crowded the wizarding pub. He arrived at the counter at the same time as Tom came to settle his bill giving Severus ample opportunity to observe him more closely.

"Don't be a stranger, Professor Snape," the man said, jovially, before turning to Harry.

*

Harry stole a glance at the dour man beside him. A professor, was he? Could it be that he was a professor at Hogwarts? He certainly looked the part of a stern school teacher right out of the pages of a Dickens novel.

"What'll be for you, lad?" asked the barkeeper.

The barkeeper's question brought Harry out of his reverie. He turned his thoughts away from the sharp eyed man beside him and onto his current goal.

"I am looking for the entrance to Diagon Alley," he began, "if you would be so kind as to show me the way? I've never been, you see."

A knowing look came over the man's face. "Ah, first time to Hogwarts, then?"

"Yes," Harry said, simply.

"Come on, then, entrance is this way! Wonderful school, Hogwarts is!" The man continued to wax poetic about Hogwarts, and Albus Dumbledore, as he led Harry into the alley behind the pub. He tapped a series of bricks on the wall in front of them, and Harry watched, amazed, as the wall opened.

"Thank you," Harry murmured, sincerely, before stepping through the wall and entering Diagon Alley. Professor Dumbledore said that this was the only place to shop in Britain if you were a witch or wizard.

Harry felt a little like Alice after she'd fallen through the rabbit hole. Everything here was different. The clothing was completely different from anything he'd ever seen. It was old fashioned, as if he had somehow wandered onto the set of one of the Jane Austen teleplays they broadcasted on the BBC.

There were people performing magic everywhere. His eyes continued to sweep the long street before finding the large, looming building of Gringotts, the wizarding bank, exactly where Professor Dumbledore said it would be. With his destination within sight, he walked straight to the building. There was no sense in looking in the shops before retrieving his money. It seemed best, not to mention logical, to get the money bit taken care of first so that he would be free to shop.

Harry was very excited about this. As an orphan and, more so as an orphan who grew up in an orphanage, Harry was not used to having much of anything of his own. He certainly had never had anything new. He wore second hand clothing, his school books were second hand, and if the nuns could have managed it, even his notebooks and pens would have been second hand.

Upon entering the bank, he discovered it was run by odd-looking creatures. The headmaster had warned him they were goblins and that they weren't to be trifled with. They seemed gruff and more than a bit unfriendly, but when he gave them his key, their manner, while still curt, appeared to lessen somewhat.

"This way, Mr. Potter," the small creature said stiffly.

Harry followed the creature, Griphook, into what appeared to be a mine-cart. What followed could be described on as a death-defying fall in which Harry would have likened to a roller coaster if he had ever been on one, that is, but as he had not, he really had no basis for comparison.

Griphook unlocked the door in front of them with Harry's key before handing it back to him with the brisk advice to keep it on him at all times. Then, Harry opened the door, and stopped, mesmerized by what he saw. There were coins, as far as the eye could see. Gold coins, silver coins, and bronze coins, piled nearly to the ceiling.

"The gold ones are Galleons, the silver, Sickles, and the bronze, Knuts," stated Griphook after seeing the confused look on his face.

"Right," Harry breathed. "And it's mine?"

A curt nod. "Yes, Mr. Potter."

Harry grabbed several handfuls of the gold coins and shoved them into his pockets, and then the two of them made the trip back to the surface of the bank. Once outside, Harry pulled the folded letter out of his pocket and a glance over the list before refolding it and tucking it back in his pocket as he entered the first shop.

An hour later, Harry had been through several of the shops and had purchased all sorts of things, including quills, parchment, potion supplies and a rather large trunk in which to place his things. He had spent some time at a magical menagerie, contemplating a pet, but in the end left empty handed. After all, the only animal Harry could think of to get were snakes which weren't allowed. He had considered an owl, but as he had no one he cared to write to, he felt it was unnecessary. He might have liked a cat, but he knew Sister Agatha couldn't abide them, so he left the store with nothing.

As Harry went into the robe shop, he noticed the man from the bar, Professor Snape, following closely behind him. He contemplated saying something to the man, but in the end, decided to simply continue with his shopping. It was likely that the man was there to watch after him. The headmaster had seemed quite reluctant to allow him to shop alone, though he had relented in the end.

The woman that ran the shop, Madam Malkin, Harry thought she was called, reminded him of Sister Agatha. She was short and stout and dressed head to toe in an horrendous shade of mauve.

She smiled when she noticed him. "Hogwarts, dearie?"

Green eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't take kind to people acting quite so familiar with him. Especially when around others, and there were currently others in the shop. A blonde-haired boy and another tailor, to be exact.

"Yes," said Harry, tersely.

"It is the time for it," she hummed. "Well, come on then. Up you go," she motioned to the stool.

"This your first year?" said the blonde-haired boy when Harry was in place next to him.

"It is," Harry confirmed. The boy was staring at him. He seemed to be almost sizing Harry up. He wasn't quite certain how he felt about that.

"This is my first as well though I've seen the castle loads of time. My father is a school governor, you know. What about your parents?" the boy chattered on as the witch took his measurements.

"Dead." was Harry's curt reply. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about his parents or the information the headmaster had shared with him, but he did know that he didn't much care for the boy's tone.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said, shrugging. He didn't seem sorry at all. Quite the opposite, in fact, if Harry had to guess.

Harry was glad when the witch declared him finished and allowed him to hop off the stool.

Next it was the wand shop. Harry was most excited about his wand, even more excited than the book shop, though that was a close second. The wand shop was a strange store, with peculiar knick-knacks sitting around and an odd odor that seemed to be coming from a plant that sat on the front counter.

"Harry Potter, I've been expecting you," said a soft voice. It was a man, Ollivander if the name of the shop was any indication.

"Have you?" asked Harry, a bit sharper than he intended. His eyes were fixed on the seemingly endless rows of long slender boxes.

"Indeed, it seems as only yesterday your parents were in here purchasing their first wands."

Harry's curiosity was piqued at the mention of his parents. The headmaster had been fairly tight lipped about them, though Harry got the distinct impression he knew more than he was letting on. "Shall we get started then?" he asked politely.

This seemed to have the desired effect. The man's moon-like eyes cleared up. "Hold out your wand arm. The one you write with," he clarified, noticing the confused look on Harry's face.

Harry held out his right arm, and for about the next two hours, they searched for his wand.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter," the man had said enigmatically about an hour into their journey. "We just haven't found the right one, that's all."

After another hour had passed, Harry was feeling quite discouraged. Was it possible that _no_ wand would choose him? It didn't seem likely, but then again, none of this would have seemed likely a week ago.

Ollivander glanced from Harry's face to the box on the top. "I wonder..." he murmured to himself. He climbed the small ladder and pulled the box off of the shelf. He opened it and gingerly pulled out the wand it contained and handed it to Harry. "Give this one a try, then. A bit of an unusual combination, but then you are a bit of an unusual customer. It is holly wood and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

As Harry's fingers got closer to the wand, he felt an odd sensation. Much like a magnet that was drawing a piece of metal. The moment he curled his fingers around the wand, he let out a sigh of relief. This was his wand, he knew it. He didn't even have to wait for Ollivander to tell him so.

Ollivander, for his part, was studying Harry. "Curious... very curious."

He continued on when Harry didn't press him as to what was so curious. "Phoenix feathers are common enough, but... it's like this, Mr. Potter. I remember every wand I have sold. Every single one. The phoenix who donated the feather that lies within your wand gave one other feather, only one other. The other feather lay in the wand that gave you the scar on your forehead. So you see why it is so curious that you would be fated for such a wand."

Harry nodded, still staring at the wand in his hand. He quickly paid the man and hurried on his way. The last place he had to go to was the book shop, and given his love of books, he knew it would not be a quick trip.

And indeed, it was not. He bought so many books that the clerk at the shop had given him a special bag. It would remain the same size, no matter how many books he placed within it. He wasn't quite sure what he would need. He purchased the set needed for school, of course, but he ended up with half a dozen others as well including some books geared towards introducing muggleborns into the wizarding world. He wasn't a muggleborn, not really, but as he had no prior knowledge of the existence of the wizarding world, he thought it would be best to be prepared. _Hogwarts: A History_ also seemed interesting as did _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. There was even a section of the book dedicated to him and his parents. They were heroes, and he... well, they called him the Boy-Who-Lived, their savior who, for the past ten years, unbeknownst to anyone else, had rotted away in a muggle orphanage. Of course, they weren't aware of that, but still. He had also discovered that wizards weren't big on fiction, not like muggles, but he did manage to find a book of children stories that would expand automatically when new stories were added. Several of the stories were about the "brave, courageous, Boy-Who-Lived". It seemed surreal that someone had written stories about him and the night he was made an orphan. Just how famous was he? He sighed as he took his magical bag filled with books up to the counter.

After paying for his books, he exited the bookshop only to discover Professor Snape waiting for him on the sidewalk near the door.

"Mr. Potter, I am Professor Snape," the man said, needlessly introducing himself. "Professor Dumbledore thought it unwise to allow you to return to the orphanage as it would be far more trouble than it is worth to ensure your safety there. Instead, you are to spend the next month lodging at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Ensure my safety?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," the man replied slowly, as if speaking to a dimwitted child, "even now, ten years after the fact, there are those who are still unhappy with your part in the defeat of the Dark Lord. Now, come along, I'm to accompany you there."

Harry nodded his acquiesce and followed the man back to the pub, pulling his trunk behind him.

-- edited by _Koinaka _on March 3, 2010 --

-- Thank you to my lovely beta, Mordac, for all of your wonderful help!--


	3. Chapter Three

Onward to Hogwarts we go! Hope you like the changes, let me know! Thanks for reading as always.

Disclaimer: Do not own. Sigh.

Harry Potter and the Walking Shadow

By _Koinaka_

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing.

_Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 24–28_

Chapter Three  
Journey to Hogwarts

The following month was probably the best month of Harry's entire life. He spent the days exploring every nook and cranny in Diagon Alley and the nights reading every book nearly cover to cover. He wasn't to wander about after dark, according to both the professor and the headmaster, and he wasn't to go into Knockturn Alley for any reason, whatsoever. He had attempted to do so on several occasions only to be waylaid for a myriad of reasons. The end result was Harry realizing that despite the fact that he was alone and far from Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore had someone, or several someones, keeping an eye on him. No matter. Even without being allowed to go to Knockturn Alley he had plenty to keep him busy, including his kneazle kitten. The day after purchasing his school supplies, he had returned to the pet shop and purchased a tiny black kitten that the shopkeeper had cleverly named Ater along with all of the supplies he would need to care for him.

He had spent most of his time reading his books. He'd skimmed through all of his first year books along with _Hogwarts_: _A History, The Rise and the Fall of the Dark Arts, _and the book of children stories. The first year books were fascinating. He'd wanted to try some of the spells before school, but the headmaster had been quite adamant that Harry not do so. Apparently, underage wizards weren't to do magic outside of school. The Ministry of Magic punished those who did, and Harry didn't dare risk being expelled before school even started. Of all the classes, he was most excited about potions. It reminded him of science, a subject he had always excelled in.

He was disappointed to find that Hogwarts was rather lacking in the subjects offered. There wasn't any sort of wizarding etiquette classes or any other practicum to help muggleborns, or muggle-raised in Harry's case, acclimate to their new environment which he found rather shocking. Not only that but there wasn't any arithmetic or grammar courses offered either, save for arithmancy which couldn't be taken until students had reached their third year of schooling. It all seemed rather backward to Harry. After reading the _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, _he wondered why they didn't teach that. Labeling something forbidden seemed to be the easiest way to get people interested in it. Plus, Harry didn't see anything inherently evil in the so-called Dark Arts. Knowledge was knowledge, and, on the same token, magic was magic. A person could hypothetically be killed by _wingardium leviosa_ just as they could be killed by the Killing Curse – all it took was for a person to simply levitate someone over a cliff or off a building.

Harry found _Hogwarts_: _A History _to be quite interesting. The house system seemed to be an easy way to classify people into groups. Unfortunately, it was also easy to see that Gryffindor was seen as the good house while Slytherin was seen as the house of ill repute. His parents had been in Gryffindor, the Dark Lord had been a Slytherin. This was assuming that _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _could be trusted. He hadn't thought much about what house he would be in. It didn't matter to him. He doubted he'd be in Gryffindor, though. He wasn't very heroic or brave for that matter, nor did he care to be. Bravery was well enough - until it got you killed, that is. As for the rest of the houses? Hufflepuff was a definite no. Harry was loyal to no one but himself. He would probably end up in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, though he was leaning more towards Slytherin as he was fond of snakes. Plus, he was sure that he must be related to Slytherin somewhere along the line since he could speak to snakes and that was said to an ability held by the Slytherin line. They called it Parseltongue.

He had also spent a lot of time thinking about his parents. It had been easy enough to learn more about them. All he had to do was read any number of books written about them, although he was sure he was receiving a rather skewed version of the events of that night which was all any of the books seemed to talk about.

Harry had mixed feelings about his parents. He didn't know them. In fact, he had absolutely no memories of them at all, so it wasn't that he didn't care about them, precisely, it was more that he had spent the last ten years thinking they had chucked him out like yesterday's garbage. He only hoped that he would be able to discover more about them once he reached Hogwarts.

*

The morning of September First dawned bright and sunny. Harry had packed and repacked his trunk probably half a dozen times since the day before. Tom had been kind enough to call Harry a taxi for him.

"Good luck at school," Tom told him as he helped him put his trunk in the car's trunk.

Harry said farewell as he placed Ater's carrier on the backseat of the taxi before climbing in.

Kings Cross Station was bustling with passengers moving to and fro. Once his trunk was on a trolley, he hurried off in search of his platform: Platform 9 and 3/4. He found Platform 9 and Platform 10 but there was nothing but a brick wall where the platform should have been. He pushed his trolley towards the wall just like the headmaster had told him to do and was only slightly surprised when he found himself on the other side.

The Hogwarts Express was a large red locomotive. It didn't look as new as the muggle trains, but Harry supposed this was par for the course with the wizarding world. It would surely be much better than the other trains Harry had been on. Just like Diagon Alley, Platform 9 and 3/4 was full of witches and wizards. Parents and children were exchanging tearful farewells. Harry ignored them and dragged his trunk and Ater's carrier to an empty compartment near the end of the train.

Once inside, he pulled his Charms book out and started to read. He was so enraptured by his book, he was only semi-aware of when the train began to move. He was pulled from his reading altogether when the door to his compartment opened and a red-haired boy peeked his head in.

"Everywhere else is full. Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

"Suit yourself," Harry said, shortly, without even looking up from his book.

"I'm Ron. Ron Weasley," the red-haired boy said a moment later.

"Harry."

Weasley gulped loudly. "Blimey, are you... Harry _Potter_?"

Harry sighed. "If I am?" he queried, never lowering his book.

Weasley was so lost in thought he hadn't answered Harry's question. "Do you really have... y'know.. the... _scar_?" he asked, the last word was a terrified whisper.

"Yes."

"I heard you went to live with Muggles. What are they like? My dad works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He's nutters about them. He's got loads of muggle things that he nicks from work. Mostly batteries and spark plugs, whatever _they _are. Drives Mum up the wall with that stuff, he does," Weasley said, fondly.

Harry paused, closing his book and lowering it to the seat beside him. "Muggles are like anyone else, I suppose. Only they haven't any magic, so they have to find other ways to do anything. I didn't even know there were wizards until Professor Dumbledore brought me my letter."

Weasley stared at him with open curiosity. "Didn't your family tell you?"

"No," he said and left it at that. "What about you? Are all your family wizards?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"It must have been nice growing up with magic. Do they have primary schools for wizards?" Harry asked.

Weasley scrunched up his nose. "What's primary school?" He paused and stared at Harry for a second. "Must be a Muggle thing. Nah, wizards don't start learning magic until they are eleven. Who'd want to start before then, anyway?"

He didn't like Weasley's tone, but he was really curious about the wizarding world. "If you don't have primary school, how do you learn to read and write?"

Weasley flushed a deep red. "My mum taught us. She taught us to read and write. Oh, and math, too, though just the basic stuff. We also learned a bit of history. What's primary school like, then? When do you start going?"

"When we're five. After that, we go to secondary. I was to start Year Seven this year."

"What kinds of things do you learn if you don't have magic?" Weasley asked.

Harry fought to keep the scowl off of his face. "All sorts of things, really, but it depended on where you went. I was in the advanced program at my school, so we were a bit different. We had to do reading, writing, and math, of course, but we also had science, geography, history, physical education, religious studies, arts, music, and Latin."

Weasley gave him a horrified look. "Blimey, mate, I reckon I'd have gone mad if I had to learn all of _that_. How'd you stand it? And since you were five? Glad I'm not a Muggle, then. I don't think I could stand it if I had to do that much work. Learning with my mum was rough enough!"

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't so terrible."

"I suppose it wouldn't have been too bad if you're the sort that likes to read a lot. Me, I'd rather be outside playing Quidditch."

"I am the sort," Harry informed him, his tone a bit sharper than he intended.

"Oh, alright, then" said Weasley. "So, do you remember it at all?"

"Remember what?"

"Y'know... the _night_ you got the..." he pointed at Harry's forehead.

"Do _you_ remember anything from when _you _were a baby?" He asked not even bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice now.

The other boyshook his head quickly. "Well, no…"

Harry didn't even bother with a response.

Silence prevailed for the next few minutes. He was glad for it. Thinking about his parents bothered him more than a bit. He'd grown up thinking they hadn't wanted him only to discover they had been murdered.

"So... what house do you think you'll be in?" Weasley asked.

"Probably Slytherin or maybe Ravenclaw,"

Weasley gaped. "_Slytherin_? I think I'd leave if I were sorted there. Everyone knows only dark wizards are sorted into Slytheirn. I expect I'll be in Gryffindor – all Weasleys are." The volume of his voice startled Ater awake. He blinked his dark eyes owlishly before yawning loudly, turning around several times, and then promptly falling back to sleep.

Luckily, it was then that the lunch trolley arrived at their compartment door.

"Anything off the cart, dears?"

Weasley flushed and pulled out a bag of sandwiches. "None for me, thanks."

Growing up in the orphanage, Harry'd never had money for sweets before. Now that he had money, he intended to buy some, only there were so many unfamiliar things on the cart that he didn't know what to try. He finally settled on grabbing a bit of everything.

After the trolley left, he went back to reading his book, satisfied there would be no further questions from the boy. He was in the middle of the theory behind the levitation spell - why it was unsafe to levitate one's self to be exact - when he noticed the boy take out an old, ragged looking rat and his equally ragged looking wand.

Seeing that he had Harry's attention, Weasley started talking once more. "This is Scabbers, my pet rat," he explained. "My older brothers, they are twins, taught me a spell to turn him yellow. If he were yellow, I could at least _pretend_ he didn't used to be my brother Percy's."

"Hmm." Harry said without any real interest. He doubted very much Weasley would be able to turn the rat yellow. Weasley, however, seemed determined to do so. He had his wand raised when the compartment door opened and two people - a round-faced boy and a bushy-haired girl entered without invitation.

"Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one," the witch said without preamble.

"No," said Harry before turning back to his book.

"Me either," Weasley echoed.

"Oh," the girl breathed as she took in the outstretched wand. "You're doing magic, are you?"

Weasley nodded.

"Well, let's see it, then," the girl continued, bossily.

Weasley nodded once again. He cleared his throat. "_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow. Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow." _He waved his wand and when nothing happened a gloomy look appeared on his face.

"Must not be a real spell - not a good one at any rate," the witch said, haughtily.

"I've practiced some of the first year spells, and they've all worked for me. I'm the first witch in my family. My parents were ever so proud when we received the letter. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, and this is Neville Longbottom."

She had, by this time, taken the seat across from Harry, next to Weasley. The other boy had as well.

"I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."

The silence where he was supposed to state his name seemed to stretch on endlessly. Finally, he answered in a curt voice. "Harry Potter."

The witch gasped. "Oh! Are you really? I've read all about you, of course! Your defeat of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in all of the supplemental reading material I got! Can I see your scar?" she asked in one breathless sentence.

Emerald eyes narrowed slightly. "_No_."

"Well, come on Neville. We should go finish looking for your toad," Granger said.

With a nod, Longbottom stood and the two of them made to leave the compartment.

"I'll help you!" said Weasley, hastily, his eyes darting between Harry and the two newcomers.

"Alright, then," said Longbottom and the three of them left the compartment bidding their goodbyes to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry continued reading as he nibbled on the wizarding snacks he had. Finally, he was alone and there would be no more interruptions. Wizarding snacks were, quite honestly, the best things Harry had ever tasted in his life. His favorites were the pumpkin pastys. Bert Bott's Every Flavor Beans were a close second, however.

The train ride continued in much the same fashion. He ate sweets and finished reading his Charms book for the umpteenth time. He paused briefly to remove his Potions text from his trunk and continued with his reading. He was half-way through the first chapter when the door to his compartment opened. It was the blond-haired boy from the robe shop only now he had two rather large, dim-looking boys with him.

"We've just heard that Harry Potter is in this compartment. Is that you, then?" he asked, haughtily.

"Yes," he said, simply. "As I seem to be the only one in this compartment, I suppose I am."

"These are Crabbe and Goyle, and I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," the boy continued as if Harry had not even spoken.

As with Longbottom and Granger, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle entered his compartment and sat across from him.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" Harry did not reply, but that didn't seem to stop Malfoy. "_I_ know I'll be in Slytherin. My family has been for generations, centuries even. My father says..."

Harry tuned Malfoy out as he went back to his Potions book. Before he knew it, Harry found himself dressed in Hogwart's robes and staring at the largest man he had ever seen.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" the man bellowed. He was large, hairy, and vaguely familiar. Harry, Malfoy, and the other first years followed the man as he rounded the corner. The castle came into view. It was... there were no words to describe it. It felt like coming home.

The large man motioned to the rowboats along the shore of the lake. "Four to a boat!"

Harry, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle climbed into one boat which began to magically move as soon as they were seated. They were the second boat to reach the shore. The castle, even closer now, was even more breathtaking.

When the others had reached the shore, the large man bellowed once more for them to follow him. He led them to a large wooden door where he raised his beefy hand and rapped _one, two, _and _three _times. A stern-faced woman opened the door and without a passing glance to the students gathered, nodded at the man. "This way, first years," she said. When they were through the door, it closed with a resounding thud.

"Remain here. I will fetch you when it is time for you to be sorted. You might want to smarten yourselves up a bit while you wait."

-- edited by Koinaka on March 4, 2010 --

-- Thanks to my lovely beta, Mordac, for all of the help! --


	4. Chapter Four

Harry Potter and the Walking Shadow

By _Koinaka_

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing.

_Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 24–28_

Chapter Four  
Welcome to Hogwarts

The stern faced witch returned several minutes later. During her absence, Harry had observed those around him. They looked like normal eleven year olds for the most part. There was no distinguishing characteristics that would have made them stick out from muggles. Weasley and Granger were standing with Longbottom, casting wary - and _hopeful? _- glances at him every once in a while. Malfoy was standing with several witches and the two large boys. The others were scattered in groups. Harry was the only one who stood alone.

"I am Professor McGonagall," the witch began once everyone had quieted. "I am the Deputy Headmistress here at Hogwarts. Now, before you are sorted it is essential that I tell you about the house system. There are four houses, each named after one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history, which you will come to learn, I am sure. Your house is to be your family during your seven years of schooling. You will be rewarded as one and, likewise, punished as one by the receiving and detraction of house points. The house with the most points at the end of the year receives the House Cup. Now, if you would follow me, we can begin."

Harry followed the professor into the Great Hall. It was just as breathtaking as the outside, even more so, really.

"I read in _Hogwarts: A History _that the ceiling is bewitched to look like that," commented Granger as she stared above them. The ceiling had indeed been bewitched to resemble the night sky. The hall itself was lit with hundreds upon hundreds of candles hanging midair.

The hall lived up to its name. It was large. The majority of the space was taken up by four long tables filled with chattering students. At the front of the hall was another large table facing outward. There he saw the Headmaster as well as Professor Snape and what he assumed to be the rest of the professors. In front of the table, there was a stool. And on that stool sat an old ragged looking hat.

Professor McGonagall led them right up to it. A moment later, the hat opened its mouth and began to sing a song.

"_Oh you may not think I'm pretty, _

_But don't judge on what you see. _

_I'll eat myself if you can find _

_A smarter hat than me. _

_You can keep your bowlers black_

_Your top hats sleep and tall, _

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all. _

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The sorting hat can't see, _

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be. _

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_Set Gryffindors apart; _

_You might belong in Hufflepuffm _

_Where they are just and loyal, _

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true _

_and unafraid of toil; _

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, _

_If you've a ready mind, _

_Where those of wit and learning, _

_Will always find their kind; _

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends, _

_Those cunning folkuse any means _

_To achieve their ends. _

_So put me on! Don't be afraid! _

_And don't get in a flap! _

_You're safe in my hands (though I have none)_

_For I am a Thinking Cap!_

There was silence for about a minute before everyone broke into polite applause.

Unrolling a piece of parchment, Professor McGonagall addressed the first years. "When I call your name, please come forward to be sorted."

And so began the sorting. Harry studied the tables of students while the others were being sorted. The Gryffindor table was loud and boisterous. The Hufflepuffs were whispering quietly to one another. The Ravenclaws were silent. And the Slytherins... they were all studying _him_, something Harry did not care for at all. His newfound fame - for something he found utterly ridiculous - was becoming quite troublesome. He had learned early that those who were famous or popular were watched and certain things were expected of them. Harry did not want to be watched. Nor did he want to have any expectations placed on him. He noticed that both Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore kept watching him as well.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a burst of loud clapping by the Gryffindor table as Granger went to take her seat with them.

Several minutes after Granger's sorting, Professor McGonagall looked briefly at her parchment before calling Harry's name. "Potter, Harry."

There were a few seconds of silence before the whispering began.

"It's Harry Potter!"

"_The _Harry Potter! Can you believe it?"

"I bet he'll get sorted into Gryffindor. All the Potters go to Gryffindor!"

_"It's the Boy-Who-Lived!" _

The hat fell over his head cutting off his vision of the Great Hall. There was a moment of silence before a small voice spoke directly into his ear.

"My, my, you are difficult. Yes, very difficult, indeed. A good mind, no doubt about that. You would do well in Ravenclaw. Oh goodness, yes. Such a thirst for knowledge. Yes, I think you would do quite well in Ravenclaw. I can see it all in your mind. But there is one thing you desire more than knowledge. Such ambition…It's not misplaced, no, I daresay you will do great things. So, where to put you?"

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. _Not Ravenclaw_, he thought. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with Ravenclaw, but he belonged in Slytherin. He was a Parselmouth, an ability only known to be found in the Slytherin line. He must be related to Salazar Slytherin somehow. He _belonged _in Slytherin.

"Are you sure? Ravenclaw would help you on your way to greatness. You'd get far less notice there than else where – no? Well, if you're sure, better be – SLYTHERIN!" The hat cried where everyone could hear.

He took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and went to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was already surrounded by his friends, so Harry took a seat near a pale boy he thought was called Nott or something similar. The silence that had dawned with the hat's proclamation ended when Professor McGonagall called out the next name to be sorted.

Finally, with Zabini, Blaise being sent to Slytherin, the sorting was finished.

As Professor McGonagall took the Sorting Hat away, Professor Dumbledore stood up. "I would like welcome everyone, both new and old, to another year at Hogwarts! Let me take a moment to say a few words before the start of the feast: Bippity! Abra! Bobbity! Now, everyone tuck in!"

And with that, huge platters of food appeared on the table, and their goblets became filled with a strange orange liquid that smelled vaguely of pumpkins and autumn to Harry. They weren't allowed to celebrate Halloween at the orphanage. Sister Agatha believed it was a pagan holiday, so he'd never gone trick-or-treating or carved jack-o-lanterns at home like the other children at school, but throughout the years, his teachers would bring in Jack-o-Lanterns, and Harry always loved their smell.

He picked up a goblet and drank tentatively from it. It _did_ taste of pumpkin and was sweet, as well.

"It's pumpkin juice," said a quiet voice near him. Harry looked up sharply to see the Nott boy studying him.

The boy flushed a faint pink and broke eye contact with Harry, staring instead at the plate full of food in front of him. "I'm Nott, Theodore Nott. You can call me Theo."

Harry arched an eyebrow, but introduced himself to the boy. "Harry Potter."

Again the boy flushed. "I don't think there is anyone here who does not know who you are. You are famous, you know."

"Famous for something that I don't even remember," he sighed.

"Better that than for being the son of a Death Eater," muttered Nott.

Harry had read all about Death Eaters, of course. They were the servants of Voldemort. A lot of them had been captured and arrested, but some had managed to escape arrest claiming they were bewitched or so the books said. He wondered how they could tell the difference. From what he could tell, the Auror Corps tended to rely on rumor and unsubstantiated facts for convictions as there wasn't a great deal of proof to be had after the fact. It didn't seem to be the most effective way to capture criminals especially when they were able to use magic.? He was beginning to feel that certain areas of the wizarding world, besides the educational system, were severely lacking.

Harry realized then that he had never responded. "There is that, I suppose."

"Yes, well, my father's in Azkaban now. Got what he deserved, and all that, if you listen to _them_ tell it."

Harry was unsure what to say, so he settled for saying nothing. He wasn't used for strangers pouring their heart out to him.

He spent the rest of the feast in silence. Contemplating his new "home" as it were. The castle was rather large. He would have to dedicate some time to exploring it in order to learn its secrets. He knew there would be a library. He was looking forward to seeing that as he wanted to learn all that he could about magic.

Harry took a moment to study the teachers. On one side of Dumbledore sat the rather large man who had accompanied the first years across the lake. He was making a bit of a spectacle of himself, waving at Harry though Harry had not acknowledged him. On the other side was an oddly familiar brown-haired man. He was drawn, pale, and a bit on the thin side. The robes he wore were obviously second-hand, and were very _very _tattered. Then, beside him, there was also a short fellow who reminded Harry vaguely of the creatures who ran the wizarding bank. And next to the Potion Master was a pale-faced, shaky-looking man who was wearing an odd purple turban, and seemed to be asking the Potion Master question after question, much to the man's dismay. The turbaned man looked up briefly, and he locked eyes with Harry. As he did so, a shot of pain erupted in his scar. He flinched and rubbed it.

Then, the Headmaster stood up.

"I'm sure you are all anxious to get to bed so that you can begin a new year of classes in the morning, but if you would allow me to impose on your time for several more minutes to give the start of term announcements.

"I am sure that you have noticed there have been some additions to our staff as well as some missing. Professor Kettleburn decided at the end of last year to retire. Taking his place is Professor Lupin.

"Now, then, on to our other announcements. I would like to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is just that: forbidden. By that same token, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly off limits to all students not wishing to suffer an extremely painful death.

"Last, but certainly not least, Mr. Filch has increased the number of banned items to two hundred and sixty-seven. The list of items, should you require it, is available in Mr. Filch's office. Now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

He clapped once and all of the plates on all of the tables vanished at once. Some of the first years looked around in awe, some with anxiety, Harry, however, was eyeing the Headmaster curiously.

A short, burly looking boy wearing a dark look and a scowl glared at the Slytherin first years, Harry in particular. "Come on," he said, shortly. "I 'aven't got all night to look after you lot."

Nott exchanged a brief look with Harry and both boys stood along with their house mates and followed the prefect out of the Great Hall and down several flights of stairs. They came to a stop in front of a blank stone wall. The bulky prefect placed a hand on the wall and a circle appeared.

"The password, which changes weekly, will grant you, _and only you_, access to the Common Room. If you forget the password, you should report to Professor Snape, our head of house, and if he is feeling generous, he may give you the password. If not..." he let the threat hang in the air.

He cleared his throat and continued. "The password for this week is _purus_."

With the required word, the circle swung open and Harry found himself in the middle of an elaborate room filled with silver and green.

"That's Latin for _pure_, half-blood," said an older boy, leering at Harry.

"I'm well aware of what it means," Harry replied coolly. He had planned to say more, but the prefect had swept around and begun to speak, cutting him off completely.

"Girl's dormitories are on the right, boy's on the left. Your belongings should already be in place."

-- edited by _Koinaka _on March 4, 2010 --

-- Thank you to my lovely beta, Mordac, for all of your wonderful help!--


	5. Chapter Five

This hasn't been beta'ed so it may be a bit rough. Let me know if you find any mistakes, and I'll be sure to fix them. This chapter is enormous. The next two chapters will be quite long as well because I condensed down the rest of the chapters (what was left after editing, anyway) into three chapters. After that, I will keep the chapter lengths long, but updates won't be as fast. You can have faster updates, but don't expect 8,000 word chapters, then.

Also, please do check out my newest story, _Adventures in Witchcraft and Wizardry. _It was a drabble, but I've turned it into a proper story. I have a fascination with bending things in canon and seeing how one thing can change everything else. In Deathly Hallows, Dumbledore told Snape that Harry's deepest nature was that of his mother's despite having the appearance of his father. What if things were reversed? What if Harry looked like Lily but acted more like James?

Disclaimer: Do not own. Sigh.

Harry Potter and the Walking Shadow

By _Koinaka_

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing.

_Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 24–28_

Chapter Five  
Settling In

None of boys spoke as they entered their dormitory. The room was much more luxurious than any Harry had ever been in despite the fact it was located in the dungeons. The cream-colored carpet beneath their feet was thick and soft. The beds, all six of them, were large with deep green bedding adorned with silver serpents.

Harry's trunk along with Ater's cage had already been placed in front of his bed. He let Ater, who was by then mewing pitifully, out of his cage so that he could wander around the room while he unpacked the kitten's dishes along with his pajamas.

While he got ready for bed, Harry thought about his roommates. Crabbe and Goyle were bulky and large, but they wouldn't be a much of a threat to Harry. They might intimidate others, but he'd spent his childhood running away from bullies like them. He'd eventually taken care of _those_ bullies; no doubt he could take care of these if he had to. He didn't know what to make of Zabini. He seemed indifferent to everything around him, including Harry. Nott seemed nice enough, but he wasn't sure what to make of him. He'd never exactly had friends before. He'd never even wanted friends before. Malfoy was another he didn't know what to make of. He had been nice enough to Harry on the train, that was true enough, but Harry hadn't cared for the way he'd treated him in Madam Malkins -- as if he were superior to him. No, he hadn't cared for that at all.

Despite Harry's insatiable curiosity about his new surroundings, he fell asleep the minute his head hit the soft pillow.

The next morning, he awoke to Nott shaking him. The rest of the boys were already fully dressed when he finally got out of bed. He thought Nott might go ahead to breakfast without him, but he was still waiting for Harry when he returned to their room. They walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast together in silence.

He ate breakfast quickly, largely ignoring the conversations around him. Breakfast was nearly over when Nott tugged on the sleeve of his robe to get his attention.

"Look," he said, pointing to across the room where the Gryffindor table was. There was a group of boys that were talking animatedly and glaring in Harry's direction sitting next to Weasley. "I bet they're angry you were sorted into Slytherin."

"I don't understand why," he responded truthfully. "It's not like I had any real control over that."

Nott scoffed. "Well, yeah, but they're Gryffindors, aren't they? They aren't known for their logic."

Harry shrugged. It wasn't the first time, after all, he'd been ostracized for something he couldn't help. He didn't have to see the Gryffindors often. In fact, the only class the Slytherin first years shared with them was Potions.

Hogwarts Castle was the very epitome of what Harry believed a magical castle should be. The stair cases moved, changing themselves at will. The portraits talked, some even going as far as to insult Harry and attempt to "joust" with him. Not to mention there were plenty of magical objects and suits of armor. It was a bit confusing to find his way around, so he wasn't very surprised when he and the other first year Slytherins got lost on their way to Transfiguration.

They finally found the classroom with only minutes to spare. The teacher, Professor McGonagall, was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was an ordinary looking tabby cat sitting on her desk. The cat was peering at the class sternly, or, Harry reckoned, as sternly as a cat could.

Nott and Zabini settled into the back of the classroom while Harry headed straight for the only available seat in the front row. The desk was next to a large girl with a flat nose and eyes much too small for her head. The girl stiffened slightly when he sat, but she did move her stuff to the side to make room for him.

Harry had just finished setting his desk when the door slammed open to reveal Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. They took their seats - the only ones left available - in the middle of the room next to several other Slytherin girls.

As if on cue, the cat jumped off the desk, and as it jumped, it transformed into a severe looking witch, the same severe looking witch that had lead the first year's to be sorted, Professor McGonagall.

"Transfiguration is the act of changing one item into another item. It can be anything from something as simple as changing a piece of paper into a piece of cloth to a complex piece of transfiguration such as the _animagus_ transfiguration which all of you should now be familiar with. Would anyone care to venture a guess?" she began.

The class stared at one another obviously confused. No one volunteered any answers.

After another minute or so, Harry slid his hand into the air. Professor McGonagall seemed to weigh him in momentarily before finally relenting to call on him. "Mister Potter, have you an answer, then?"

He nodded. "The Animagus Transfiguration is when a human transfigures himself or herself into a specific animal. Unlike other transfigurations, the caster, yourself in this case, can change form at will, alternating seamlessly between your human and your animal form. It is a complex piece of magic and, as such, the Ministry of Magic deemed in 1825 that all of those who attempt must be of age and under the guidance of a Transfiguration Master."

It took the stern professor a moment to recover from the shock that had gripped her as Harry spoke.

"Just so. Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter. It will be some time before you are ready to attempt something of that magnitude, if ever you _are_ ready. Now, then, I trust all of you have made yourself familiar with the first chapter in your textbook, so I shall spend the first half of the class lecturing on the theory behind transfiguration. You will have a chance to transfigure an object for yourself afterward."

Everyone spent the next half-hour hunched over their scrolls scribbling notes furiously.

When the lecture was over, McGonagall passed out matchsticks to every student. Their assignment was to change the matchstick to a needle. He practiced the wand movements several times before speaking the incantation.

After two attempts, he was finally able to change it, though not completely. While still obviously a matchstick, it was now silver in color.

McGonagall stopped next to Harry as she checked their progress. "Potter, yours is adequate, but you must have a clear picture in your mind as you perform the movements with your wand. Try again..."

By the time class ended, only Malfoy had managed to turn his matchstick into a needle.

Their next class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Quirell was far too nervous and excitable to be a defender against _anything_ let alone against the Dark Arts. The man had bolted from his seat just because the last student to enter the room had slammed the door. And the _room_... Harry had never smelled anything so foul before. Beneath the smell of garlic which permeated everything was another, much fouler smell.

"I heard he's afraid that a vampire he met in Albania is going to find him here," commented Nott.

Harry thought that would certainly explain the overabundance of garlic.

The class itself was boring. Professor Quirell didn't lecture at all. He just told them to read and summarize the first chapter. Harry quickly summarized both the first and was starting on the second when a flash of crimson in Quirell's eye caught his attention. It was gone just as quickly as it appeared, but Harry was certain he had seen it.

"Something is off with Professor Quirell," He told Nott as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Seems a bit jumpy, that's all," Nott reassured him. "I wouldn't worry about it. He's not a very good teacher, though, is he?"

"No, he's not," Harry murmured, not taking his eyes off the head table as he piled food on his plate. Professor Quirell was staring down at his empty plate. Something was terribly off with that man.

After lunch, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins made their way to their last class of the day: History of Magic. This, Harry hoped, would prove to be a more interesting class than Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The teacher, an actual _ghost_ called Professor Binns, was worse than even Quirell. The ghost was sitting at the desk when they entered the empty classroom. The last student had scarcely taken their seat before Binns began lecturing about some Goblin rebellion. Harry wasn't quite certain which particular Goblin rebellion he was telling them about because over the course of the next hour, he spoke of several. Harry hadn't been prepared to hear of Goblin rebellions, especially as his textbook - which he had read thoroughly - had not included the slightest bit about them.

Harry tried to ask if they would be covering the origins of magic in the Britain, a subject the book had covered quite thoroughly, but the ghost had refused to answer.

"I'm afraid," the ghost had replied, "that we've only time for questions regarding the Goblin Rebellion of 1238. So, if it does not pertain to that, I'm afraid we must move on. Now, then, as I was saying before, Giliad the Gregarious led his small army of..."

The lecture went on forever. Harry took careful notes because there was a possibility it would be on their year-end exams even if it didn't appear in the textbook.

He planned on holing himself away in the library now that he was finished with classes for the day. The library was relatively empty since it was only the first day of classes, so Harry was free to explore it without anyone taking notice.

Until, of course, Harry came across the restricted section. He wasn't even certain, at first, that the section was restricted. He had been wandering down the aisles when he felt a certain pull towards that particular section. His eyes widened as he took in the various titles - they were gruesome, terrifying, and also very _very_ interesting. He reached up to pull one such book off the shelf when someone cleared their throat, rather loudly, behind him. He turned to find the dour face librarian, Madame Pince, giving him a reproachful stare.

"You must have a note - signed by a professor - to browse in the Restricted section, young man." Her tone brooked no arguments.

Though Harry was seething inside, it did not show. "I'm very sorry, ma'am," he replied, contritely. "I wasn't aware."

She gave him a curt nod before pushing him past the section and going back to her post. Harry's narrowed at the back of her. How _dare_ she touch him. What right did she have to touch him? He couldn't abide being touched. His fists were clenched into tight balls at his side, and it took several long deep breaths before he was back in control of his emotions.

He spent the rest of the afternoon reading furiously in a corner of the library. Magic was fascinating - completely fascinating. There seemed to be no limits to the things one could do with it, yet the wizarding world seemed so limited in some respects. Of course, electricity and the telly - which he had never cared for, really - were such small sacrifices in exchange for the endless power they had access to. But this had Harry questioning his new world. While they did not have the technological advances that were common place in the Muggle world; illnesses and diseases that were prevalent there were obsolete here. Perhaps it was Darwin's theory of the survival of the fittest working itself out? Further research would have to be done for sure.

Then, there was the issue of blood. Clearly it was important, but to what degree? What significance, if any, did blood have? If his housemates were to be believed, then blood meant everything, but blood could not be analogous to power. Else how could he, a half-blood, have had power enough to defeat Voldemort? Harry decided this was another thing that definitely warranted further research. Perhaps his Head of House would be of some use. According to _Hogwarts, A History_, Salazar Slytherin had been researching just this subject before his banishment from Hogwarts.

Sometime later, when his growling stomach reminded him that the time for dinner was nearing, Harry left the library and headed for the Great Hall. He was nearing said hall when two boys stepped out of a nearby alcove. One of them was Octavian Pucey, the other boy, Harry did not know.

"Well, well, look what we have here, Tavi, if it isn't that little half-blood, and all alone," simpered the boy. "We should teach him a lesson, don't you think?"

"Yes, I think we should. Filthy little _mudbloods _need to learn their place," replied Pucey, leering at Harry.

"And what place is that?" asked Harry, coolly, eyeing the boys with an air of indifference about him.

"Don't take that tone with me," the boy snarled. The boy went to grab him, but Harry quickly dodged out of his way. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough to dodge the other boy.

Harry let out a _whoosh _of breath as he toppled to the stone floor.

The two boys snickered loudly. "What should we do to him now, Marcus?" Pucey asked, twirling his wand in his hand. He bent over Harry and traced the lightening-bolt shaped scar on his forehead with it.

Harry saw his opportunity for escape. He touched the boys hand, barely suppressing a satisfied smirk when he heard the sickening cracks the bones made as they shattered.

He pulled himself up before turning to the other boy whose face was now ashen. "Need I continue on, or have you realized that you were mistaken about my _place_?"

The boy shook his head quickly. "N-no, it's fine!"

Harry gave a short nod as he collected his now scattered belongings. "Good, then I suppose you ought to help your friend to the Infirmary. He seems to have broken his hand."

After leaving them, Harry continued on to the Great Hall.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Nott had opted to sit next to Zabini and Malfoy for some reason or another. Harry didn't mind, truly, though he couldn't help but notice the apologetic looks Nott kept giving him. How odd. Surely the boy didn't think Harry _cared_ where he sat?

Pucey's companion came in the Great Hall half-way through dinner. He threw a fearful look Harry's way before sitting down on the other end of the table. Harry saw him, then, staring intently at his plate. When he looked up and caught Harry's gaze, he paled and averted his eyes immediately. The others around him attempted to draw him into conversations, but he remained silent. Harry allowed himself to observe the boy for a few more minutes before turning his attention back to his own dinner.

That night, Harry was awoken by a strange dream. It was filled with startling green light, screaming, and an odd high-pitched laughter. It took him ages to fall back asleep, and then, once he finally had managed to, he was awoken by Nott pushing lightly on his shoulder.

Harry got ready quickly. Today was the first day of Potions and Charms as well as Astronomy, although Astronomy didn't meet until 10 p.m. The other Slytherin first years were still getting ready when he and Nott left the dormitory.

"So, is it true?" whispered Nott, anxiously, as they made their way to the Great Hall.

Harry stopped and turned to look at him. Is what true?" he asked.

"That you did something to Pucey and Flint."

"Of course not," he replied curtly.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're thinking," Nott said at once. "I'm not, _really_," he continued, emphatically.

"There's nothing to tell."

By this time, they had reached the Great Hall.

"If you say so," Nott muttered, but he didn't look like he believed him. _No matter_, Harry thought as he took a seat at the end of the table. He had expected the boys - Pucey and Flint - to tell the other Slytherins. In fact, he had counted on it. He didn't mind taking care of any other... _bullies_... if they happened to be brave enough to attempt something again, but he would rather not.

At the orphanage and at school, he was able to get away with it because there was no one who could _prove _it was him doing it. Here, though, magic was common place, and he was certain that if he had a repeat of the previous night too often, he would be found out. Not only would he be found out, but he would be thrown out, and _that _was a chance he was not willing to take.

As if to prove his point, he felt not only the Headmaster's gaze on him, but also the shrewed gaze of his Head of House. Professor Snape was glaring hatefully at him, as if he thought that he could be rid of him by look alone.

Mail came and suddenly the entire Slytherin table began chattering excitedly.

"Wow," breathed Nott next to him. "Gringott's was broken into."

Harry shrugged. Muggle banks were robbed all of the time. It was nothing new to him.

Nott was looking at him expectantly. "_Oh_," he said. "You don't know since you're Muggle-raised." Harry bristled at this, but Nott continued on quickly. "Well, it's nearly _impossible_ to break in there, isn't it? Dragons guard the high-security vaults, and Goblins aren't to be toyed with. They're vicious creatures. Whoever broke in there must be completely mental."

"What did they take?" Harry asked eventually, his curiosity getting the better of him. He wondered what would be worth breaking into Gringotts.

Nott's eyes were wide. "That's the thing," he said, excitedly. "They didn't take _anything_. The vault they broke into had been emptied the very same day!"

"How... strange," remarked Harry. And indeed it _was_ strange, but he didn't particularly care, and he told Nott so when he wondered why Harry wasn't more interested.

"Why not?" Nott asked.

Again, Harry shrugged. "Why should I care? It doesn't concern me."

Nott had given him the same skeptical look as before, but had dropped the subject. To be fair, Harry really had no problems at the moment. He was away from the orphanage, learning _magic_. The room he was staying in was nicer than any he'd ever had to date, not to mention the food was terrific. No, Harry was quite content for the moment.

They shared Potions with the Gryffindors. Harry didn't particularly care about this either, but the rest of the Slytherins mumbled and grumbled complaints the entirety of their trip to the dungeons.

If there was one word to describe the dungeon classroom where Potions was taught it would be: over-the-top. Completely and utterly over-the-top. The room was dark and damp. Not to mention that, but there were jars of what appeared to be pieces of human specimens stacked on the shelves around the walls. Harry could only assume that Professor Snape wanted all of his students to be too intimidated to succeed in Potions. Unfortunately, that would not work with Harry.

Harry took a seat near the front of the class. It happened to be next to the Granger girl once more. Nott gave him a searching look as he sat next to a girl Harry thought was called Greengrass, but Harry shrugged it off.

Malfoy said something to Zabini under his breath while watching Harry out of the corner of his eye and both boys immediately began to snicker. Harry took this opportunity to study the Gryffindors. Sitting at the table directly beside him was Longbottom and Weasley. Longbottom looked positively terrified, as if he was awaiting a death sentence instead of the beginning of a class. Weasley, on the other hand, was looking especially sulky.

At exactly 8:00 a.m. the door of the classroom opened with a bang and Professor Snape stalked into the room. Longbottom let out a squeal of fright at the sudden noise which sent Malfoy and his friends into a fit of laughter. Snape began the class with calling roll. Harry expected that. What he _hadn't _expected was the hate the man hadn't even bothered to mask when he came to Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new - _celebrity_."

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he remained calm otherwise. Malfoy and his friends continued their not-so-subtle snickering.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is very little foolish wand-making here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry chanced a glance over at his table partner. Granger's hand was poised over a piece of parchment where she had copied his opening speech verbatim. Further to his right, Longbottom looked downright ill.

"Potter!" barked Professor Snape. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Draught of Living Death, _sir_," he replied. That was an odd sort of question. It hadn't been in the first year books, nor the second year books. It _had_ however been in some of the more advanced supplemental material. It seemed inappropriate to ask a mere first year so advanced a question.

Professor Snape's lips were set in a tight line. His dark eyes glittered dangerously.

"Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a beozar?"

Harry exhaled slowly. "The stomach of a goat." That question at least wasn't quite so difficult. It hadn't been in the first year's text book, but it _had_ been in one of the more introductory potions book he'd bought.

The atmosphere in the classroom was rather tense. Granger kept shooting looks at Harry, her arm twitching to thrust into the air at every question Snape asked him.

Snape's expression was now livid. It was quite obvious he had not been counting on Harry to be knowledgeable. Harry, on the other hand, had found Potions absolutely fascinating. This class was the one class he had most been looking forward to.

"What's the difference, _Potter_, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There is no difference," Harry said. Was Professor Snape going to expect him to answer every question? Not that he minded, really, but Granger looked as if she might explode if she wasn't given an opportunity to answer something.

"Ten points to Slytherin," he said, rather reluctantly. Harry knew that if he had been in any other house Professor Snape would not have awarded him any points. He then turned on the rest of the class. "Well, why aren't you writing this down?" he said, scathingly.

For the next several moments, the only sound that could be heard was the scratching of quills against parchment. When Professor Snape thought ample time to write the pertinent information down had passed, he flicked his wand at the chalkboard behind him. The instructions for a boil-curing potion appeared on it.

Snape sneered at the class.

"You will partner with the person seated at your bench for the day. Instructions are on the board," he practically snarled as he stalked through the aisles.

Harry grimaced slightly. He'd never been one for team work in school. None of the other students had been able to keep up with him academically. Professor Snape obviously had noticed his look.

"Think you're too good to work with a partner, Potter?" asked Snape, viciously.

"No sir," Harry replied quickly. It was true. He had no idea what sort of student Granger was.

"Well, then, begin!"

For the next hour, Harry and Granger chopped, diced, and stirred. They were just about to bottle their sample when a strange noise to their right caught Harry's attention. He noticed that Longbottom's cauldron was shaking slightly, probably about to blow up at any moment, and both Longbottom and Weasley didn't even seen to notice. _How_ had they managed to mess this up? It was ridiculously simple - _if, _of course, assuming the instructions were read and followed. Well, Harry certainly wasn't going to allow the cauldron to explode, especially when he was sitting directly next to them. He didn't relish being coated with whatever atrocity they had made.

Suppressing an annoyed sigh, he pulled his wand out from the pocket of his robe, pointed it at their cauldron and said, "_Evanesco_."

The mess in their cauldron disappeared and immediately the shaking stopped.

"Hey!" cried Weasley indignantly, "What'd you do that for?"

"It was about to explode," Harry said. "Obviously."

By this time, Professor Snape was lurking behind them.

"And what, exactly, is going on here?" asked Snape.

"Potter used some spell to vanish our potion!" Weasley said.

Snape spun around to face Longbottom. "Is this true, Longbottom?"

The boy blanched and let out a small whimper before answering. "Yes, he did."

Predictably, Snape sneered at Harry. "And why, Mr. Potter, did you feel the need to vanish their potion? Afraid someone would do better than _you_?"

"Not at all," replied Harry, his tone bored. As if there was a chance of _that _happening - at least where Weasley and Longbottom were concerned. "Their cauldron was about to explode. I was simply saving myself from having to experience firsthand whatever it was they managed to brew."

"It's true," pipped up Granger from beside him. "I saw the whole thing."

Snape turned his cool gaze from Harry to Granger and then to the two Gryffindors beside him. His lips were back in that tight line again and he looked like he was in pain. "Five points to Slytherin, Potter," and then, with a malicious smirk on his face, he added, "Ten points from Gryffindor - a piece for your gross negligence - and zero marks for the day."

Longbottom was pale and shaky, but he nodded. Weasley, on the other hand, was as red as his hair which was quite an accomplishment, Harry thought.

"Put your samples - labeled, mind you - on my desk of what you've managed to finish and then you are dismissed. Don't forget to copy your homework off the board," barked Snape before going back to his desk. "Potter, stay behind."

Granger carried their sample up to the desk and left the classroom. The rest of the students were rushing to finish their own potions. It was another five minutes before the class was clear. Harry packed his belongings into his bag and headed up to Snape's desk. The professor was sitting behind his desk, fingering the vial containing his and Granger's potion.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter," he motioned to the table directly in front of the desk.

Harry sat down, eying Professor Snape curiously. He wasn't exactly sure _why_ he was being held behind. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"Do you know why I've asked you to stay behind?"

"No, sir," Harry replied, truthfully for he really had no idea.

"Two of your fellow classmates visited the infirmary last night," began Snape, he continued peering at Harry, obviously waiting for a reaction.

He received none. "That is unfortunate. I hope they are well."

"I've talked to several of your classmates and was told that the you and Octavian Pucey had exchanged words. Odd that you two quarreled and then the very next night he was sent to the infirmary with all of the bones in his hand shattered. Would you care to explain that?"

Harry tensed slightly, but his face was carefully schooled into a look of confusion. "Quarreled is a bit of an exaggeration, sir. He called me a half-blood, several times in fact, but that was it."

A dark scowl appeared on Snape's face. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice was soft and there was a dangerous edge to it.

"Yes."

"And just where were you last night, Potter? I happen to know that you were not in the common room or in your dormitory."

At this, Harry's eyes narrowed. He knew very well what the professor was trying to do. He was trying to catch Harry in his lie. "I was in the library, sir. I am most nights. Just ask Madam Pince."

"And before that?" said Snape, his voice nearly a growl.

"Dinner, _sir_."

There was a crash as the Potions Master stood abruptly and moved until he was in front of Harry.

"Let me make something very clear to you, _Mr. Potter_. I know that you are lying, and I do not abide liars."

Harry widened his eyes slightly, a habit he had picked up and perfected with the Sisters at the orphanage as well as his teachers. "Are you suggesting that I shattered all of the bones in the hand of a sixth year boy - a boy that is several times larger than me? How would I have done such a thing?" His tone was one of incredulity, but there was a mocking edge to it that had the Professor flushing red with anger.

"With magic, of course, you insufferable boy!" he snarled.

"With magic," Harry repeated, still incredulous. "The sort of magic that a _first year_ would know?"

"_Do not mock me_."

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, instantly appearing contrite. "But with all due respect, sir, why don't you just ask Pucey who hurt him?"

"Oh, believe me; I have - at great length. He refuses to say."

Snape did not reply but a resigned look had appeared on his face.

"You've made your point, _Potter_," he spat. "Even if I cannot _prove_ you injured that boy, I know you _did_. Let this be a warning to you, I will be watching you. If I get even the slightest inkling that you have injured another student with so much as a paper cut, I will see you expelled and prosecuted to the furthest extent of the law. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," intoned Harry.

"Very well, dismissed."

Harry grabbed his bag and was about to flee the office when Snape called out after him.

"And detention every night for a week, Mr. Potter, to be served with me."

The hand that was not holding Harry's bag clenched tightly. "Yes, sir."

"7 p.m., Mr. Potter. Do not be late."

Harry was seething when he exited the Potions classroom. He stopped when he had turned the corner past the classrooms. He leaned against the the wall until his breathing was once more regulated. That man was completely insufferable. A weeks worth of detention, and for what? No matter what Snape thought he knew, he'd never be able to _prove _it, just as Harry had pointed out.

Thanks to Professor Snape keeping him after, he was nearly late to Charms and, as he _was_ nearly late and the class _was_ quite full, Harry was forced to sit in the back of the classroom next to the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson shot Harry a venomous look out of the corner of her eyes. She shifted slightly, moving so that she was the furthest she could be from Harry while still remaining seated on the chair. She muttered something about "mudbloods" before turning back to her note-taking.

Professor Flitwick, Harry discovered, was a much better teacher than Professor Binns or Professor Quirrell. Not that it was that _hard_ to accomplish being better than a ghost and a stuttering man who seemed afraid of his own shadow, really, but still.

Flitwick had squeaked and fallen off the stack of books he was standing on when he got to Harry's name, but for the most part, he treated Harry like any other student. The man did seem quite pleased that Harry had managed to do the charm on the first time, awarding him some five points for Slytherin.

He spent the rest of the morning in the library working on his potions homework and wondering why it was that a ghost and someone obviously incompetent were allowed to teach. He'd come across teachers like this before, in primary school before he moved to the advanced program, and he had discovered there that a well-placed suggestion was often enough to start an investigation where the incompetence would be discovered and rectified.

After dinner, Harry headed down to the dungeons to report to Professor Snape's office for detention.

"You'll be scrubbing cauldrons tonight, Potter," barked the Potion Master when Harry entered the class room.

Harry started the cleaning deciding - for the moment - not to antagonize Snape. This only seemed to further enrage the man.

"I wonder, _Mr. Potter_, what your father would think about you being a Slytherin? He always held a certain disdain for them. I'm sure he'd be so disappointed in your sorting."

Harry paused in his cleaning to turn to the professor. "I'm afraid I'll never know what he would have thought," he remarked in a bored tone, "since he is dead, Professor, as is my mother."

At the mention of his mother, he heard Snape take in a strangled breath.

"Did you know her?" he asked casually, continuing his cleaning, "I'm told I have her eyes, the very same color, in fact, but," at this he shrugged, "as I've said, I'll never know." He chanced a look at Snape. Well, he thought slyly, if wonders never cease. The man was frightfully pale. Snape recovered a moment later and, after giving him a furious glare, stalked out of the room, leaving Harry with the command to not leave the room until the cauldrons were completely clean.

It was a rather reluctant Harry that awoke the next morning. He and the other Slytherin first years had had Astronomy the previous night until midnight. The professor, Professor Sinastra, was more than adequate - even if she wasn't immensely powerful. She was obviously more than minimally proficient in her subject, and Harry, for one, enjoyed it. Of course, he had always enjoyed Astronomy at his muggle school - what little they had done - so he wasn't very surprised to find that he enjoyed it.

Malfoy was in fine form the next day, and before the Slytherin first year boys had even reached the Great Hall for breakfast, he had called Harry a mudblood twice. Harry repressed the urge to hex him though it had been quite difficult. He choose, instead to point out that both of his parents had been magical.

"Don't let him get to you," Nott told him after Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had left their room. "He's a miserable sod. Always has been."

Harry studied Nott for a few moments. "How long have you known him?" he asked, curiously.

Nott blushed faintly. "I've known Malfoy for years," he admitted. "Not that he'd say so, of course, but we used to play together when we were little. We had lessons together, too. His mum and mine used to be pretty close, too."

"Hmm," Harry said, "I wouldn't have guessed. He's ignored you pretty thoroughly since we arrived, hasn't he?"

Once again, Nott blushed. "Yes, well, my father's in Azkaban now, isn't he? Ministry seized control of the Nott estate and all that. If it weren't for the Hogwarts fund, I wouldn't even be here. You can't expect a Malfoy to be friends with a pauper." Nott could not hide the bitterness from his voice. "It doesn't matter," he sighed. "Let's go.".

They ate breakfast quickly before heading outside to the greenhouses for their first class of the day – Herbology. They were met there by a dumpy looking woman who turned out to be Madam Sprout the Herbology Professor and the Head of Hufflepuff.

She lectured them on the basics of magical plant care before assigning them to read the first chapter in their text before their next class.

The rest of Harry's first week passed by without incidence. Magic, it seemed, came easy to Harry. He was still the first to finish most times, although Zabini finished directly after him in some cases and Malfoy in others.

Harry's second week promised to be an exciting one. Monday morning found the Slytherin first years gathered around a notice that had not been posted in the common room the previous night. It was a notice stating that the Slytherins were to have flying lessons on Thursday morning with the Gryffindors.

Since the posting of the notices, all of the first years, regardless of house had done nothing but chatter on incessantly about flying, Qudditch, or a combination of the two things. Personally, Harry didn't see the appeal of flying around on a _broomstick_ - of all things - though it was quite obvious that he was the only one who felt that way.

Nevertheless, Harry had been unable to escape the tales - most likely wholly untrue - about amazing feats of flying, including the near collision of a boy and an aeroplane. So, Harry was very much looking forward to Thursday like all of the other first years. Not because he would be able to fly, but because he felt certain that the tall tales would dissipate after the lessons.

Monday morning's post brought something of interest to Neville Longbottom.

"_Look_," breathed Malfoy from his place beside Zabini and Parkinson. "Tubbottom's got himself a Remembrall."

Parkinson let out a shriek of obnoxious laughter and Zabini sneered. "How'd he get a Remebrall?"

"Let's go see, shall we?" Malfoy said, gleefully. "Wonder what he's forgotten, anyway? _His magic?_" The three Slytherins guffawed loudly at Malfoy's comment, and then headed towards the Gryffindor table where Longbottom was surrounded by Weasley, Finnegan, and Thomas.

Harry and Nott watched the scene unfold with carefully veiled interest. "What's a Remembrall?" asked Harry, not taking his eyes off of the Slytherins as they crossed the Great Hall.

"It's a magical object," said Nott, earning a glare from Harry.

"_That _much I gathered. What's it do?"

Recognition flared in Nott's eyes. "_Oh_, I forgot..." he trailed off. "It turns red if you've forgotten something."

The trio of Slytherins reached the Gryffindor and, with only a flash of Malfoy's wand, the Remeberall went from being in Longbottom's possession to being in Malfoy's. A flash of anger surged through Harry. He hated thieves just as much as he hated bullies.

Growing up in an orphanage, personal belongings – _true _personal belongings that belonged to you and you alone - were few and far between, and Harry hadn't many of them. A blue blanket the nun said had been with him when he arrived, his clothing - meager though it was - and a book.

The book had been a gift from one of his teachers. The man, John Davis, had been Harry's favorite teacher. Of course, he had been the _first_ teacher Harry had, but he had been a rather kind man. A great deal nicer than the nuns, and Harry was only a boy after all, barely five and terrified of the entire world, really. The man told the most grand stories Harry had ever heard. The _only_ stories he'd ever heard as the nuns in the orphanage weren't apt to tell bedtime stories. They were stories where heroes went on epic adventures and _always always_ won. Harry had thought it sounded marvelous to take grand adventures, and he had believed - _truly believed_ - that heroes always won in the end. Harry learned to read quickly, more so than any of the other students in the class, and he would read that book over and over again, and each time he read it, he imagined himself in the leading role. _He _was the hero who saved the girl from the dragon, and in the end, married her. _He_ lived happily ever after.

During those brief moments, Harry could pretend that he was special, he was _loved_. He could ignore the taunts the other students sent his way, the things they said when they thought he couldn't hear.

"_Look at his clothes! He looks like a beggar boy!"_

_"And his glasses! Practically coke bottles, they are."_

"_He's an _orphan_, didn't you know? Heard his parents didn't want him anymore and just dropped him off at the orphanage." _

_"Good riddance, I'd say. All 'e ever does is read. I bet 'e's mute."_

_"And deaf!" _

Harry ignored them, for the most part. When the school year ended, Mr. Davis had gifted the book to Harry, and Harry had been over the moon.

He had a book, and it was _his_ and no one else's.

It was after lunch that it happened. Harry took lunch under a tree on the playground. Of course, lunch wasn't ever much, a sandwich and an apple, never crisps or any of the other luxuries he saw the other students eating, but Harry didn't care, not really.

One of the older boys from the orphanage, Sam Myer, a staunch Harry-hater, as he'd labeled them, cornered him under the tree, surrounded by several of his equally large friends.

"Whatcha got there, _freak_?" he'd asked Harry.

Harry ignored him.

"It's a _book_," cajoled one of the trollish boys.

"A _book_? Where'd you get one of 'em?" asked Sam. "Not supposed to take books outside of school, it's not proper. Give it here."

"No," Harry had quietly said. "It's mine."

But Harry hadn't a chance, really. One of the boys popped him in the face, knocking his glasses on the ground while Sam grabbed his book.

"_Look,_" he'd said, in exactly the same voice Malfoy had used, a combination of breathlessness and glee_, "_It's a book of _fairy tales." _

_"_Fairy tales are for babies," the third boy said as he took a step and crushed Harry's glasses under his pristine trainers.

Righteous fury filled Harry, and he remembered glaring at the boys indignantly. "_Give it back!_" he snarled.

And they _had_ given it back to him before they'd left. In pieces. Harry had never been so enraged before, truly. Tears of anger filled his eyes, traitorous tears. He'd run after them as best he could with no glasses on, but by that time, Sam had been alone.

"_Crying now, are you, little baby?" _he said, laughing loudly.

"_SHUT UP!_" Harry had yelled, and to his surprise, he _did_. Oh, his mouth still moved, but no noise came out. Harry had panicked and backed away, slowly, from the approaching boy. Somewhere in between reaching Harry and punching Harry, the boy had regained his speech. He'd hit Harry several times, belittling him as he did so, until Harry didn't think he could take it anymore, and he wished, _more than anything_, that he could make him hurt as much as he did! And then it happened. Sam's arm snapped suddenly causing the boy to emit a loud pitch scream, and Harry stared at him for a long moment before running for a teacher.

That was the first time Harry had intentionally hurt someone. It was also the first time he realized something. He _wasn't_ a hero, and there was no happy ending for him.

That was why, when he noticed Malfoy holding Longbottom's Remembrall, he was out of his seat and half-way across the room, Nott trailing along behind him, before he even noticed he'd moved.

-- edited by Koinaka on March 16, 2010 --


	6. Chapter Six

This hasn't been beta'ed so it may be a bit rough. Let me know if you find any mistakes, and I'll be sure to fix them. It turns out that this chapter is the last I have written, so everything from here on out will be brand new! It's very exciting. I am actually rather happy about the direction the story is taking now, but please let me know what you think.

Also, please do check out my newest story, _Adventures in Witchcraft and Wizardry _if you haven't alread_y. _There's only one chapter for now, but the next chapter should be out by the end of today. I have a fascination with bending things in canon and seeing how one thing can change everything else. In Deathly Hallows, Dumbledore told Snape that Harry's deepest nature was that of his mother's despite having the appearance of his father. What if things were reversed? What if Harry looked like Lily but acted more like James? Also, it is quite different because it is the only story I've ever written that isn't full of angst! Imagine that.

Disclaimer: Do not own. Sigh.

Harry Potter and the Walking Shadow

By _Koinaka_

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing.

_Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 24–28_

Chapter Six  
Of Friends and Bullies

McGonagall reached the group of students at the same time Harry did.

"What's going on here, Longbottom?" she asked. She glanced disapprovingly at the small crowd. Weasley already had his wand out and was pointing it at Malfoy.

Longbottom swallowed nervously. "M-Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Malfoy tensed and thrust the Remembrall into Longbottom's outstretched hand.

"I don't need it anyway," he said, snidely when McGonagall had gone. "My father can afford to buy me loads of Remembralls! Unlike yours, Weasley."

"Come on, Potter," Nott said quietly. "Best get to class, yeah?"

Harry nodded. As amusing as this exchange was turning out to be, they had classes, and he had no desire to be late.

Classes that day were excruciating. All anyone, except for Harry, could talk about was the upcoming flying lessons. By the time three o'clock arrived, Harry was thoroughly annoyed.

The Slytherins reached the clearing where the flying lessons were to take place to find two lines broomsticks laid out on the green grass.

"It's really too bad that first years aren't allowed their own broom," Malfoy said to Zabini. "These are truly ghastly."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what a broom _would_ look like, but even he could see these were rather tattered with bristles sticking up at odd angles.

"So, Potter," began Zabini, coolly. "I bet you've never even _touched_ a broom before let alone ridden one."

Beside him Pansy Parkinson shrieked with laughter. "Yeah, you _filthy _little half-blood."

Before Harry could retort, Madam Hooch appeared and called the lessons to attention.

Harry's broom came to him the moment he issued the command of, "Up!" Not that Harry had had any doubt of it, but still it was nice to catch some of his yearmates in obvious lies. Especially as Finnigan's broom would not even lift the ground, and Weasley's only made several jerky motions. Malfoy's had risen immediately, but Zabini and Parkinson had some difficulty in getting theirs to obey.

When everyone's broom had responded, Madam Hooch continued the lesson. "Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle, three - two - _one_."

Harry pushed off and rose off the ground, hovering several feet in the air before doing as Madam Hooch instructed and leaning forward to bring his feet back down to earth. Flying was an odd thing, really. It was pleasant enough, he supposed, but he found no real joy in it, though he seemed to be the only one who felt that way.

Save Longbottom, perhaps, who was clutching his broom tightly in his hands, his knuckles turning white with the effort. He was slower than the others, all of the first years had already risen once and were now on their second or even third times. Harry saw him take in a strangled breath before pushing off with far more strength than necessary.

He shot up straight in the air, perhaps twenty feet or so, maybe higher. Even from his position on the ground, Harry could see Longbottom was frozen with fear. He was an unnatural pasty white color, and he was obviously trembling. The next moment, he moved forward in what Harry supposed was an attempt to bring the broom down, losing his grip instead and plummeting to the earth.

His arm made a sickening _cracking _noise as he landed on the soft green grass.

Madam Hooch rushed over to the fallen boy, taking his wrist gently into her hands and examining it. "Broken," she murmured. "Well, up you get Longbottom. Come along, I'll escort you to the Infirmary. Madam Pomphrey will fix you up in a jiffy." She turned to face the class, then. "I'll be back in a matter of minutes. While I'm away, I expect everyone's feet to remain firmly on the floor. Should any of you choose to ignore my warning, you'll find yourselves in a tremendous amount of trouble."

She gave them a pointed look before leading Longbottom off towards the castle.

"I'm surprised he was even able to lift his fat bottom off the ground," guffawed Malfoy.

Several of the Gryffindors were visibly seething.

"You take that back, Malfoy," spat Weasley.

Malfoy smirked widely. "You know, I don't think I will."

"Hey, Malfoy, look what Tubbottom dropped!" said Zabini, pointing to the ball-like object lying on the ground.

"_Yes_," breathed Malfoy softly. "Longbottom's Remembrall." He strode over and picked it up before tossing it into the air several times.

"Give it back, Malfoy!" Seamus Finnigan shouted.

Harry's thoughts were pulled to the past. "_Give it back!_"

"That's not yours!" snarled Weasley.

"_It's mine."_

"Yeah," joined in the Indian girl, Patil.

"You probably want it for yourself, Weasley. You'll never have enough money in a lifetime to buy one. Why should I give it to you? You know, I think I'll just leave it somewhere for the great lump to find - like the roof."

He threw his leg over his broom and holding the Remebrall with one hand and the broom with the other, he rose off the ground.

And Harry felt that same righteous anger flow through him as he had as a child. It was the only gift he'd ever been given. It had been his alone, and they had _taken _it from him! Had _destroyed_ it. And for no other reason than because they _could_.

_"It's mine." _

_"Give it back." _

_"It's mine." _

_"Give it back." _

_"IT'S MINE." _

_"GIVE IT BACK."_

The words echoed in his head over and over again, each time louder than the time before, until the voices of the Gryffindors and other Slytherins faded away and all he could hear was his five year old self.

The Remebrall shot out of Malfoy's hand and into Harry's with such force that Malfoy, himself, fell off of his broom. The Slytherins hurried over to Malfoy while the Gryffindors seemed torn between looking at Harry and looking at the fallen Malfoy.

Zabini was helping Malfoy back to his feet when they were joined by Madam Hooch and an enraged Professor Snape.

"Potter,_ my office, NOW!_"

"I didn't do anything wrong," said Harry the moment the two were enclosed behind the doors in Professor Snape's office. Obsidian eyes followed his every move.

"I am well aware of what you did or did not do, Potter, as I was a witness to the last bit of it."

"Oh," Harry said, ineloquently, as he allowed the Professor to direct him to a chair and sat down. He was feeling a bit shaken up. It had been quite some time since he'd had an occurrence of truly accidental magic. He didn't like feeling out of control.

"Have you always had accidental magic of that magnitude?" Snape asked.

"No," Harry lied easily.

"Was it accidental magic that shattered the bones in Octavian Pucey's hand?" Snape asked instead.

"I've already told you that I didn't do anything to Pucey."

There was a long pause before Snape again.

"Get out of my sight, Potter."

Harry didn't need further encouragement.

*

A tall, thin figure emerged from the shadows after the boy was gone. "You are too hard on him, Severus. He is only a boy," chided the Headmaster softly.

Severus ran a hand across his weary face. "He... unsettles me. There is something about him..." Severus let the sentence hang.

"I know, my dear boy," the Headmaster said, his face showing every one of his years as he remembered another dark-haired boy who was particularly adept at unsettling him. He watched the young man before him for a long moment. "The other teachers say he is a bright child, a bit precocious perhaps, but a joy to teach, and no real disciplinary problems to speak of - despite the numerous detentions he has served with _you_. What is it that he has done to warrant detention almost nightly since his arrival? Is he truly such an unruly child?"

Pinned under the Headmaster's gaze, Severus Snape flushed lightly. "He unsettles me," he simply stated once more. "I am better able to watch him if he is in detention with me than if he were free to wander about the castle. Bright, yes he is that, and precocious, yes, he certainly is. I'll not deny that, but he is also _dangerous_, Headmaster! All of the bones in Octavian Pucey's hand were _shattered, _and they certainly did not come to be that way by themselves."

Albus Dumbledore sighed wearily. "_This_ again, Severus?" He took a long, deep breath. "Has Pucey told you expressly that it was young Harry who injured him?"

"No, but -"

"Did _Harry_ admit to doing so, then?" he asked.

"_Of course not - _"

Dumbledore simply raised his hand, silencing the man. "Then, I'll ask you not to bring the subject up again. If Mr. Pucey will not admit who injured him, and young Harry denies his involvement, there is nothing more than you can do."

Severus's breath came out in harsh spurts for several long seconds before he was able to calm himself. "_Fine_," he all but snarled, "but I will keep an eye on him - even if it means he spends his entire seven year stay at Hogwarts with me in detention nightly."

"I would expect nothing less. Just what is it about the boy that unsettles you so, Severus? I do not think I've seen you so troubled in a great many years. Is it how remarkably similar to James he is? Or is it his resemblance to his mother that troubles you so?"

_"_He is nothing like Lily!"

"Oh, but he is, my dear boy. He has her eyes, exactly her eyes, as I'm sure you recall, and her talent as well," replied the Headmaster lightly.

"You've used that line before," said Severus, bitterly.

"And yet it bears repeating. He is not so different than you were as a boy. His childhood was every bit as unhappy as your own, and I've been told he had no friends in the orphanage at all whereas you always had Lily."

Severus's chest throbbed painfully. _Lily..._

"Does he seem to be making friends here?" queried the Headmaster.

"No," admitted Severus. "I'm certain he could, if he chose to do so, but he allows no one close to him though Theodore Nott seems particularly interested in becoming his friend."

Once again Dumbledore seemed to age before his very eyes. "_Ah_, yes, so similar," he murmured to himself.

*

"Weasley challenged Malfoy to a wizard's duel," Nott told him as the two boys left the Great Hall after dinner that evening and headed towards the library. Harry had a bit of time before his first detention with Snape, and he planned on spending it finishing his Charms essay.

"That's interesting," said Harry, even though he felt nearly the opposite. "Awfully brave of Malfoy... _I _certainly wouldn't want to find myself under Weasley's wand - considering the state of it... "

"We could go watch," suggested Nott. "It could prove useful."

"I doubt that."

The boys studied in quiet for several minutes before Nott cleared his throat. "Why'd you do it?" he asked, softly.

"Do what?" Harry asked distractedly.

"Help Longbottom."

Harry glared at him. "I wasn't helping Longbottom -"

Nott cutt him off. "Then what were you doing?"

"Malfoy is a bully. I don't think much of bullies."

Nott considered this for a moment before nodding. "He is that."

"Too bad it won't be enough to stop him from doing it again," Harry said.

Nott snorted gracelessly. "Did you see the look on his face, though, when he fell? It was priceless!"

Detention that night with Snape went about as well as he could expect. Harry was to prepare ingredients for the man. He did so until ten o'clock when Snape dismissed him with a glare and an insult. The boy's dormitory was in an uproar when Harry arrived.

"I wish I could be there to see the look on Weasley's face when Filch shows up," crowed Malfoy.

"_If_ he even shows up," Zabini said, pointedly.

"Oh, he'll show up," Malfoy promised. "Gryffindor bravery and all that rot." He gave Harry a disdainful look as Zabini and the two thugs snickered.

When it became apparent that Weasley and Longbottom had managed not to get caught by Filch, Malfoy spent the next several days sulking.

*

"The Gryffindors are up to something," Nott commented one day, nearly two weeks after the flying incident.

Harry raised his head, reluctantly, from his book and followed Nott's gaze until it landed on the four Gryffindors - Finnigan, Longbottom, Thomas,and Weasley - who were huddled over a book. "Hmm," he said after a moment. "I suppose they _have_ been rather tetchy lately. What do you suppose they are up to?"

"I don't know, but it is odd, isn't it? Those four being in the library, I mean. We've never seen them here before," Nott said.

Harry watched the Gryffindors with pursed lips. "How long would you say that they've been acting oddly?" he asked Nott. He hadn't been paying close attention to the Gryffindors since the flying lessons if he could help it. Between serving detentions with Professor Snape, doing his homework, and exploring the castle when he could, he rarely had any free time at all.

"Ever since the botched duel," Nott replied, "I know we should have followed them that night. I think something happened - really happened - and now we'll never know!"

At this, Harry scoffed softly and raised one of his eyebrows, giving Nott an incredulous look. "_Nothing_ has happened," he said, mildly. "Nothing we don't already know, at any rate. Gryffindors aren't particularly known for being subtle, are they? I don't think any of them - least of all Weasley - understands the _concept_ of a secret. You don't think they could actually be _hiding _something, do you? Besides, you know Malfoy was only setting them up. I spend enough time in detention as it is."

Nott had the grace to look abashed, but he did not agree with Harry. "I do," he insisted. "I overheard them just this morning, before classes. _Something_ is going on - and it involves the forbidden third floor corridor."

Harry's quill dropped noiselessly to his parchment, and the book Malfoy had been pretending to read closed shut with a _thud_. "The third floor corridor," he breathed, excited. "Are you sure?"

Nott nodded furiously. "_Yes_," he said. "I heard them! Not all of it, mind, but enough to know they've been there when they shouldn't have been."

"_Ah," _said Harry, mostly to himself. "I bet that's why they got so many points taken away! I knew that was a bit excessive for breaking curfew. What do you suppose is there?"

It was a question he'd been thinking about for a while.

"Well, that's just it, isn't it? No one knows. I heard some of the older Slytherins talking about, though. They said it must really be something because there's never been an area of Hogwarts you couldn't go."

"We'll have to keep our eyes on them," Harry said, nodding towards the other students. "Like I said before, they're Gryffindors. They'll give something away eventually."

But, surprisingly, the Gryffindors didn't do anything suspicious other than spend more time than usual in the library. It wasn't until a week had gone by that they noticed them acting strangely again. The four boys had spent the entirety of breakfast either huddled together talking or casting wary glances at the Head Table.

"We've got Potions with them today, so I'll see what I can find out," Harry told Nott as they left the Great Hall.

During Potions, the perfect opportunity presented itself because after calling the class to order, Snape immediately asked them to group in pairs.

The four boys were about to pair off when Harry gave Nott a pointed look. He grinned at Harry and then not-so-subtly stuck his foot out and tripped Weasley as he went to move towards Longbottom.

Harry moved smoothly to where Longbottom was standing as the two boys began to scuffle.

"Hello," Harry said to him. "Want to work together?"

"You don't have to," said Longbottom, quickly. "I'm horrid at Potions. I wouldn't want to drag you down."

"I know I don't _have_ to," Harry replied, "but I _want_ to."

"Oh, alright." The boy seemed genuinely puzzled at why Harry would want to work with him.

A red-faced Snape gave them their assignment, stopping briefly to glare in Nott and Weasley's general direction. Harry and Longbottom worked in silence for several long moments before Longbottom's hushed voice broke the silence.

"I never got a chance to thank you for getting my Remembrall back from Malfoy. You didn't have to do that."

Harry gave him a small smile. "Of course I didn't _have_ to," he answered somewhat vaguely. "But I'm not going to let Malfoy get away with bullying everyone."

Longbottom still looked uncertain. Harry sighed inwardly. Gryffindors seemed prone to being particularly obtuse, something that was sure to drive him absolutely mad. "Friend stick up for one another, don't they?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, but we aren't friends," said Longbottom, warily.

"Not yet," he conceded, "but we could be if you wanted."

Longbottom frowned. "You want to be my friend? You've never even talked to me before."

Harry shrugged. "That's because we're in different Houses, and it's not like you've ever tried to talk to me before either. If you don't want us to be friends, that's fine…"

His face lit up, "No, that would be brilliant," he said before Snape appeared at their workstation to check on their progress.

"Well?" asked Nott as they walked into their next class of the day, Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Well, what?" snapped Harry, moodily. They'd only just arrived in the class and already his scar was throbbing painfully.

"Did you find out anything?"

"Not yet, but now that I've made friends with him, I'm sure I'll be able to find out something. Maybe I can even tag along next time they go to the library together."

That day, Quirrell was even worse than usual, if _that_ was even possible, stuttering nearly every word to the point that his lecturing - what little he did -- was practically incoherent. By the time class was over, Harry had a blinding headache. Quirrell's nervous behavior got worse the closer to Halloween it became.

One night, on his way back to the dungeons from the library, he found himself on the third floor thanks to the ever-changing staircases. Since he was already there, Harry decided to investigate the corridor for himself only to find nothing of interest, unless of course, three-headed dogs that seemed keen on consuming human flesh - _his_ human flesh - were commonplace in the wizarding world.

Since Harry didn't think they were, he thought that must be what the Gryffindors had discovered. Although, as interesting as a three-headed dog was, he couldn't really see what use it would have, especially when you couldn't rightly get near it. Unless that was the point entirely. Was the three-headed dog _guarding_ something?

Nott was playing chess with Malfoy in the common room when a breathless Harry sank onto a nearby couch. The dog - and Harry was very reluctant to even call it a dog, monster was more like it - hadn't been affected by any of the spells he'd used, so Harry had had to resort to running away from it. He almost hadn't gotten away, in fact, as the missing piece of his trouser leg was a testament to.

"_Potter_?" asked Nott, taking in his friend's disheveled appearance.

Harry shook his head. "Not here." He pulled Nott into their empty dorm room.

"I know what it is on the third floor corridor!"

Nott's eyes widened. "What?"

"A dog - a _three-headed_ dog."

"A _cerebus!_ They have a hell-hound in a school for children. Why on earth would they have a hell-hound at Hogwarts?" He paused before answering his own question. "It's guarding something."

"Obviously," Harry said. "But what?"

Nott shrugged. "It could be anything. Hogwarts is the one of the most protected places in the wizarding world. Only Gringotts comes even close to it."

Harry's eyes widened at the mention of Gringotts. He hadn't paid any attention when Nott had told him about Gringotts being broken into, but if it was the second most secure place in the wizarding world - and Hogwarts was first – "Maybe whatever used to be in Vault 713 is now _here_ at Hogwarts. Maybe that's what the dog is guarding."

The only question was - _what was in Vault 713?_

The morning of Halloween began in a pleasant enough way. He wasn't sure what to expect as he'd never had a proper Halloween celebration before. Since the nuns at the orphanage had considered Halloween a pagan holiday, they'd never even been allowed to trick or treat.

There was also the small matter of Halloween being the anniversary of his parents' deaths. It wasn't that he was still grieving for his parents. How could he be when he'd never even known them? He could only assume it was because before July he hadn't known that they were dead at all let alone when it had happened.

Harry stared at the decorations in the Great Hall with an expression akin to wonder. It _was_ quite a sight - a thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, causing the candles in the pumpkins to stutter.

"It's really something, isn't it?" Nott commented, looking around at the decorations.

Harry nodded his head in agreement. He was reaching for a piece of buttered bread when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. Harry and Nott exchanged a look.

"Trolls aren't terribly bright creatures, are they?" Harry asked.

Nott shook his head slowly. "No way, they are dumb as a pile of bricks."

Harry's eyes widened. "What's the probability that it let _itself_ into the most protected place in Britain, then?"

"Not a chance in the world," breathed Nott, a look of horror on his face as the hall around them descended into utter chaos.

"Prefects! Lead your students back to the dormitories!" Dumbledore thundered.

The two boys exchanged a look.

"The dormitories? Is he mad? Quirrell just told him the troll is in the dungeons! He can't expect us to go there!" Nott said.

"_Oi_, come along, you lot," said a broad-faced prefect as she began sheep-herding the Slytherins out of the Great Hall.

Harry's eyes swept across the room just in time to see Quirrell disappear through the doors instead of gathering with the other teachers.

"Hey, Nott," said Harry softly, nudging the boy. "Quirrell seems to have made a quick recovery. He's just disappeared out the front door. What do you suppose he's doing?"

"Same thing Snape is doing, I bet," commented Nott, eyeing the Potion Master who was indeed following Quirrell out the front door.

Their eyes met, and they shared a knowing look. "_The third floor corridor!_" they hissed in unison.

"Nott! _Potter!_ This way, or I'll let the troll have you!" snarled the same prefect.

"She would," said Nott, groaning. "He'd probably do it as a favor too. You know, being as he's her cousin and all."

Harry snickered, but quickly smoothed his face into an impassive look of boredom. "You go ahead, Nott, I'm going to follow Quirrell and Snape."

"Oh no you don't. Not without me at least," interrupted Nott.

Harry arched an eyebrow at the boy. As if _Harry _needed _Nott _to protect _him_... what a ridiculous idea.

"Look, I _know_ you can take care of yourself, and you don't really need me, but just let me come, will you?" finished Nott.

Harry sighed and bit back a sharp retort. "Fine, you can come. Now, let's go. We'll follow them and act like we're going downstairs with the rest of the Slytherins. Only we'll go up the staircase instead of down them when we get there."

Nott gave him a shrewd look. "What if they aren't going there? We might have lost them by then."

"They'll be there. Where else would they be? You said it yourself, trolls don't let themselves into the most protected place in Britain. The troll was obviously meant to be a distraction, but I refuse to let myself be distracted by it."

They were following behind the other Slytherins, at the back of the line. No one seemed to notice they were purposely lagging behind.

"So, Quirrell is easy enough to explain, but what about Snape?" asked Nott.

"I don't know," Harry said, a frown flitting across his face. "But I intend to find out."

It was ridiculously easy for Harry and Nott to sneak up the staircase while the Slytherins were going down it. However, they weren't alone. They met Weasley and Longbottom on the second staircase.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" snarled Weasley.

"Same as you, I would think," Harry said, eyeing Longbottom who shifted his gaze from Harry to Nott.

Longbottom let out a sigh of relief. "You're going to help us find Hermione, then?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "No," he said, with a shake of his head. "Why would we?"

Now, Weasley looked sheepish. "I might have said some mean things to 'er," he mumbled.

"Who, _you_, mean?" asked Nott, a bit waspishly. "I never took you for a mean person at all. Just narrow minded and judgmental - a bit like Malfoy, wouldn't you say, Potter?"

He shrugged. "Can't say, really. I try not to think of Malfoy whenever possible."

Harry nearly smirked at Weasley. He hadn't thought it was humanly possible to turn quite that shade of purple. "Well, are you going to help us or not?" Weasley demanded. "She doesn't know about the troll, so we've got to find her before it does."

"Or not," replied Harry, firmly. He hadn't time to go rescuing damsels in distress. Quirrell was making his move on whatever it was that three-headed dog was guarding, and Harry wasn't going to miss his chance to discover what it was because of some foolish girl.

It was obvious -- however -- that this was the wrong thing to say. Weasley narrowed his eyes, and Longbottom had a wistful look on his face.

"_Fine_," snarled Weasley. "But if something happens to her, I'll hex you myself."

"And why would you do that?" asked Harry, honestly nonplussed. "It's not my fault that your big mouth caused Granger to -- what is she doing anyway? Hiding in a toilet or something?" At Longbottom's nod, Harry continued. "Why is it my responsibility to save her? Go tell a professor if you that worried about going up against a troll. In fact, I suggest you do that. I certainly wouldn't entrust my life to your wand work."

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived," Weasley blustered. "That's what you do -- save people."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at the boy and shrugged. "I'm only an eleven year old kid. It's not my business to save people."

Nott chuckled at Weasley's gaping face. "Come on, Potter. You'd better hurry along, too, Weasley, else the troll may find _you_, and wouldn't that just be a shame?"

"Good luck," Harry called to them as he and Nott continued to the third floor. The only response from Weasley and Longbottom was a string of insults from Weasley.

"Well, that was pleasant," said Nott. "Did you see his face? Priceless."

But Harry's gaze was fixed firmly on something else. Quirrell, with a pair of very red eyes where his dull brown ones normally were, running _away_ from the forbidden corridor. As if Harry had called his name aloud, Quirrell whipped his head around to where the boys stood. The red eyes were gone though his scar gave an agony-filled throb at the piercing gaze.

"You two should be in your c-c-common room," Quirrell stuttered. "It's not safe to be wandering around while there's a troll loose."

Not even a moment later, Snape came limping into view. Harry had never been so glad to see Snape as he was then.

"There had better been a good reason that the two you are in the forbidden third floor corridor as opposed to in the Slytherin Common room -- where you ought to be," Snape hissed, angrily. When Harry opened his mouth to explain, he snarled at them. "Don't say a word -- I don't care to hear your excuses. Return to the common room -- _now_. Dally even a little, and I will endeavor to see you on the next train out of Hogwarts. Is that understood?"

Both boys nodded and scurried away down the stairs.

"Did you see his leg?" asked Nott as they made their way back to the dungeons.

He shook his head. He wasn't thinking of Snape at all, rather he was thinking of Quirrell.

"It was all bloody. Like he'd been gnawed on by a dog -- a rather large dog, I would say," Nott said, bringing Harry back into the present.

"Like a three-headed hell hound?" asked Harry, mildly.

"Just like that."

The atmosphere the following morning was solemn.

It turned out that Weasley and Longbottom had gotten to Granger, only not before Granger was injured by the troll. By the time the professors arrived on scene, both Granger and Longbottom were unconscious, and Weasley was standing over the body of an unconscious troll. They weren't sure who was more surprised -- the professors or Weasley.


End file.
